


Sincerely (Yours)

by Tezy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: 19th century AU, Alternate Universe - Historical, Aristocracy, F/F, F/M, Frank Iero is a Sweetheart, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, M/M, Teacher AU, Teacher Frank Iero, Tutor AU, children au, like lots of historical inaccuracy, lords and ladies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tezy/pseuds/Tezy
Summary: (Late 19th century AU)Frank is the son of a merchant, with no money, and no title. But he's smart, and he enjoys teaching, so when the opportunity arises for him to help with the two children of a particularly wealthy family, he decides it is worth the risk. The children are precocious, outspoken and they quickly become his favourite students. Their slightly peculiar uncle, however, is the real mystery for him.





	1. Hydrangea

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not gonna say this is historically accurate, as I did most of my homosexual studies for my degree on slightly later periods, but it should be reasonably believable. 
> 
> Well, no, that's a lie.
> 
> It's not at all believable, but the dates should line up ;)
> 
> The first chapter is mostly context/prologue, and the second one, with actual story, will be up as soon as it has been proofread. It's been written in full, I am just breaking it into sections to preserve my own sanity.
> 
> Enjoy xo

**Prologue**

There were few things that Frank Iero, Jr, in his youth, did not take to like a duck to water. One of those, things, ironically, was in fact taking to water.

Even born to a merchant father from Sicily and a mother who had discarded her higher prospects of marriage in order to marry for love, he had always been looked after well in his childhood years. The bills were always paid on time, their family home was well-appointed, and his tuition was finely done, for he was quite studious when he wished to be. 

And then he was twelve, and he was waving his father away on his latest voyage to gather more exotic produce to sell. His mother, Linda, was stood next to him on the docks, one hand on his shoulder, the other pressing an embroidered handkerchief to her eyes as a proper lady should (despite the fact she had long forsaken her titles, Linda Iero was, and would always be, somebody who precisely followed the rules of etiquette for society.)

A fortnight later, and a courier arrived in the rain. He was holding a black waxed envelope in his hands, which was the harbinger of doom. His shoulders hunched miserably against the cold and rain as he slid the letter which explained Frank Iero, Sr, had perished in a wreck off the cost of France into Linda’s bone-white grip.

Suddenly, they were no longer the prosperous mercantile family. His mother had only her meagre savings to provide for them at first, and slowly, she began selling the beautiful clothes and jewels that had once been family heirlooms – the ones her own father not not been able to take from her before she eloped, at least. She worked her hands to the bone, but it was never enough, and it was only when Frank turned fourteen and he looked at her pale, sunken eyes and dagger-sharp cheekbones that he realised it truly was too little for the both of them. So, despite her anger, and despite her pleading, he packed a small bag, and left for the ports, where he was certain he could find employment as a ship’s boy, and with that, he could send a few pennies of his wages back home without both of them starving. It was the easiest job a boy of his age could find and hold down, despite his own memories of his father’s untimely passing.

He quickly found a captain who was one man down – “Bloody squints, they run after every piece of skirt they see, and then they’re gone!” – who invited him onboard.

“You better pull your weight, or I’ll throw you off starboard,” Captain Flint warned him on his first day, then he roared with laughter so loudly Frank thought the ground might shake, and slapped him on his back so hard Frank thought he’d bruise his spine. “You’ll be fine.”

The first two journeys he spent, miserably ill, surreptitiously throwing up when he was alone on deck, and scrubbing decks until his hands bled. But slowly, and without even realising, he came to find his home. It took a long time until he found his sea legs, but when he did, he realised that the sea was a beautiful, if treacherous, mistress. They went port to port for a while, making small money, and he slowly worked himself up the ranks from a what was little more than a scullery maid into a full-fledged part of the crew. By his seventeenth birthday, he was helping plan the merchant routes himself. He wondered, sometimes, if his dad would be proud.

He saved as much as he could, and sent the rest home to his mother with small notes, signed in salt-blurred initials and his own scratchy handwriting, posted from the first ports they pulled into. And then, Captain Flint fell sick during one of their return legs from Asia. He was sick for months, and it was a slow, torturous journey. By the time he passed, Frank’s feelings of freedom had turned into ones of being stifled. A few of the crew stayed on, in memory, but Frank could not stay there without the captain he’d grown into a man with to guide them.

He left the ship, and found work as a tutor for a middle-class family, lying through his teeth about his meagre education to secure the position. He was smart – he knew that – and it was a secure job which paid better than being on a dangerous ship for six months at sea. And if he didn’t particularly know Latin, well, they did not have to know that, until he taught himself it.

He taught the children by day, and holed himself in his own sparse quarters with borrowed books at night, so he might pass on the knowledge come morning. It was hard, and he was permanently exhausted, but it was also joyous and full of rewarding moments, like when the young son finally could read a sentence in Latin and he’d gone yelling delightedly to his mother about it. 

He stayed there for four years, and he watched his young charges grow up, and then when they didn’t need him any more, he moved on. For eight years, this was his life, moving from place to place. 

And then one of his acquaintances in the docklands pubs, Gabe, pulled him aside and asked if he’d be willing to work for a landed gentry family as a personal tutor. He’d been curious, of course he had – he’d heard so many terrible things about working for the aristocracy, but he’d also heard the wages were better and the rooms weren’t half as bed-bug infested. He didn’t have much to lose, considering he was currently in-between tutor jobs, and he had rent to pay.

He told his friend he was interested, and a few days later, a card was hand-delivered to him at his shabby bedsit in East London. The card was inside an envelope that had been inscribed with a crest in scarlet and gold, and there was a return address carefully stamped in the same gold ink.

He opened it eagerly, fingers sliding clumsily under the wax seal:

_Dear Master Iero,_

_I am writing to extend an offer of employment from myself and my wife. We require a quick-witted tutor for our two young children. We need one who will teach with enthusiasm and you have come highly recommended._

_We are happy to offer you lodging at our home, Waywood Manor, and an annual salary of sixty pounds, with negotiable increases for good performance. You will receive two days off per week, although these may be adjusted depending on our own requirements._

_Please respond as soon as possible if you are interested, so we may arrange travel and draw up a contract._

_Yours sincerely,_  
Lord Way  
Earl of Curiae 

He stared at the short letter for too long of a moment, sure the salary must be some kind of mistake. It was double what he’d previously earned, and that had been working seven days a week, on call at all times. Perhaps the lord had been distracted when he was writing? Quickly, he fished out a clean piece of lined paper and sat down to write a reply, agreeing whole-heartedly to their terms.


	2. Alstroemeria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh boy. This story grew a little out of control, so there's quite a lot I need to edit. I am not sure why I do this to myself.
> 
> In other news, I woke up last night, scrawled '4am - fnrk picni' on a piece of paper then went back to sleep.
> 
> I don't know if I should trust myself anymore.

The first glimpse he had of the infamous Waywood Manor was the lofty iron gates, jutting into the grey sky like familiar blackened masts of ships. It did not bode well, and his gut twisted slightly as he peered through the opulent carriage’s curtains. The whole thing had been arranged in haste, with the carriage arriving within three days of their agreement, and he was still very nervous about it all. Would they think he was uncouth, with his merchant background? It was scary enough to be given responsibility of two children – he was not quite sure that he should have added to his troubles by involving titles into the matter.

As they entered the manor grounds, the road became smooth and well-worn, and either side, rolling green spread as far as he could see. The only interruption was, to one side, an orchard in bloom which led into a densely-populated thicket, the trees looking as if they’d been there for centuries. It was exactly the type of place he’d heard of – old money with old lands – but never seen in person. He was much more used to the hustle of the city, smoggy and alive, than this too-silent pastoral scene. There was no incessant click of wheels on cobblestones or the cries of street peddlers here.

He tried to relax, sitting back in his seat, and staring resolutely at his own scuffed shoes. 

The driver yelled out something which was lost to the wind, and then the carriage was turning and slowing as they finally arrived in front of his new home.

Waywood Manor, he knew, had not always been known by that name. In the distant past, the Way family had been particularly reclusive at social gatherings and had developed a reputation, and the ‘wayward Ways’ had begun as a joke passed from wealthy merchant to landed gentry and around. In time, they had adopted it as their own, and taken it to heart when they named their latest county home, and Frank couldn’t help but think it was particularly fitting when he saw the manor himself. The whole building was older than he’d expected, and in the half-light of the evening it looked particularly menacing with the dark grey brick, oversized gothic doors and pointed towers in all four corners. It looked almost like the refuge of a particularly wealthy vampire, albeit one which also enjoyed neatly trimmed lawns and picturesque orchards outside.

“Be calm, whatever happens,” he repeated to himself as he clambered out of the carriage. The driver had already deftly hopped down and taken the two long strides to the front door to knock, since there appeared to be no footman waiting outside. There was a large brass knocker shaped into the visage of a screaming man, which was what he had to slam against the door. The driver glanced at this, then back at Frank, and smiled a smile that passed often between working men. 

“Best of luck,” the driver said, with unspoken ‘you may need it’ hanging in the air as he returned to the carriage and left Frank waiting there alone, still unsure. He was gripping his hastily-packed bag with one trembling hand – although he would, of course, deny that it was due to nerves.

The door was opened by a servant he did not see and revealed a tall woman stood in the hall, with dark hair pulled back into a loose bun. She was wearing the clothes of a gentlewoman, and there was no mistaking who she was as she beckoned him inside. She had the air of somebody who had married an Earl, but she still looked warmly at him as he stumbled over the foyer.

“Lady Way,” he began when he was inside the hall, unsure, with a stiff bow he quickly regretted. He had not expected to be greeted by her, and he was unsure of the correct etiquette.

Her dark eyes almost sparkled slightly in the candle-light, and her mouth was turned up at one corner. He couldn’t help but notice she had a dark rim around her eyes, as if she was wearing the kohl that was in fashion with those women he’d been particularly well-acquainted with in the docks. 

“Master Iero, I believe,” she began. Frank was immediately surprised by her accent, which had a distinct East London edge to it, although disguised under the more palatable burrs of the country. “I apologise, our housekeeper is quite busy, so her duties fall to me.” She motioned one perfectly-gloved hand to one side, at the woman waiting beside her. “This is Tilly, one of our best housemaids. She will be your best friend for the next few days, I assure you. She knows every haunted crevice of this place.”

Tilly was shorter than Lady Way, but she seemed to make up for this in her broad, infectious grin which fought for attention against her freckled cheeks. “Sir! Welcome to the manor,” she chirruped as she bounded forward, pulling his case from his hands and motioning for him to remove his overcoat all in one practised motion.

Frank was taken aback, and he was sure it showed on his face, because Lady Way offered a gentle laugh.

“Tilly, my dear, don’t harass the poor man. Take him to his room, and then make sure he’s ready for dinner.”

“Yes ma’am.” Tilly took his quickly shrugged off overcoat and folded it neatly in her arms, despite the fact she was already holding his case. Frank wondered if he was expected to be able to juggle like that in his new position. He hoped not.

He was uncomfortable in his overly-stiff shirt (he’d purchased a new one with his meagre savings in an attempt to give a good impression), in an unfamiliar place and under the eyes of his new mistress, and he was glad when Lady Way quickly excused herself and left him alone with Tilly. 

For a moment, he glanced quickly around the hall, taking in the brightly-dyed Indian rug that ran towards the grand staircase, the only slash of colour in the otherwise reserved décor. One on wall, a stag’s head peered out at him through antlers which looked like they had split many foes apart before meeting its doom. It unsettled him more than he cared to admit, and he was glad to turn his attention back on Tilly as she steered him towards the stairs.

She took it upon herself to keep up a running commentary on the home as she led the way to his new room, explaining the history and family (as she did, she motioned at a large painting that dominated the foyer directly above the grand staircase, of Lady Way and a man who he could only assume was Lord Michael Way, 8th Earl of Curiae, and two bright-eyed young children. One had his father’s solemn expression in miniature form, but the younger girl was beaming like a ray of sunshine at something outside the frame.)

The house was oddly quiet for one that housed two young children, he thought, as she led the way down darkened corridors. He knew the manor was large, and he was expecting for his new room to be tucked away in some far corner, but he hadn’t quite expected it to be this large as they weaved their way through corridor after corridor, around corners which revealed even more rooms and tapestries and paintings and worn red carpets which had obviously been trodden by generations of Way members.

“The young’uns are already in bed, Gilly wore them out today picking apples in the orchard,” Tilly offered when he voiced his thoughts about the silence.

“Gilly?” Frank questioned, amused, and Tilly raised an eyebrow at him, as if she was used to this reaction.

“My mam. Her name’s Gertrude and I’m Matilda, but the babes couldn’t say that when they were young, and the names stuck.” She stopped, and motioned at the door they were stood outside. “Here we are, your new palace.” She fished a brass key out of one of her pockets, unlocked the door, and showed him inside. Inside, she set his case and the key down on the bed, his coat over a chair nearby, and then went around the room and lit several of the candles so it wasn’t quite so dark and ominous.

“Thank you for your help,” he said as, this done, she went to the doorway. He was still quite overwhelmed but glad that his first experience with one of the other staff had been so friendly.

She was still grinning, and she tucked a piece of her bright copper hair behind one ear as she said, “Make yourself quite at home. I’ll be back in thirty to take you to dinner. Make sure you dress smartly, Lord Way doesn’t like slackers.”

She was gone before he had a chance to question her suggestion he’d even meet Lord Way, which was absurd, because people in his position did not dine with the peerage. Maybe this was just a warning, in case he ran into the lord in one of the never-ending corridors? Either way, as he opened his case, he picked out a velvet dinner coat he’d never had the occasion to wear, and shrugged it on before deciding to explore his new quarters.

There wasn’t much to explore, to be fair. It was quite plain, but there was nothing lacking. The bed was overly large and took up much of the room, and left very little space for much else except for the desk against one wall and a rickety-looking wardrobe. The bedsheets had been neatly folded back, as if waiting for him to slide in, and he took a longing look at them before deciding his first port of call was to write a letter to his mother and explain his safe arrival. He’d ask Tilly when she returned how they handled letters in the manor, he decided, as he took a seat at the desk.

**

Tilly was true to her word, and exactly half an hour after she’d left, there came a light rapping at the door. He opened it and stepped back to let her in. She was carrying a tower of clothes neatly folded and, balanced precariously on top, a water jug. Setting this on the desk, she glanced him up and down and nodded approvingly. “You look good. I’ve brought you a few of the manor jackets, in case we have guests, but feel free to wear your own clothes most of the time.”

“You have a uniform?” he said, only slightly surprised at this revelation.

She clucked her tongue slightly. “Silly boy,” she said warmly, even though he was sure she was probably a few years younger than him. “Formal attire, with the Way crest on it. Sometimes we wear it during big events. But rarely. I also found a few of Adam’s old clothes, just in case you needed some more. Last year, they brought a boy here and he had only one shirt! Could you imagine?”

Frank thought of his own belongings, which consisted of exactly two shirts, but nodded anyway.

“Come on, we mustn't be late,” she said, motioning him to follow her.

On the way, he mentioned the letter to his mother which he’d neatly folded and left on the desk, and she nodded and said she’d pick it up on her rounds the next morning and send it to the postmaster. He wondered exactly what Tilly’s job was, as she appeared to know everybody and everything, but she also got nods in the corridor as if she wasn’t just a housemaid. She waved happily to the few people they passed, but didn’t pause to exchange pleasantries. It wasn’t particular odd that the Ways employed both her and her mother, but he wondered if she’d grown up in the sprawling manor with the ease she navigated the corridors.

“Here,” she said, as they stopped outside a door which at least twice his height – not that was saying much, considering his sickly countenance as a child had led to his own less than impressive height. “They don’t eat in the grand dining room most nights. Much too big. This is one of the smaller ones.”

“They?” he asked as she ushered him inside, and then he came face to face with the man in the portrait. He was as tall and solemn-looking as his artistic depiction had been, with glasses balanced on the end of his nose, but he also looked surprisingly young to be the lord of such a large manor. That hadn’t come across in the painting, although Frank now thought that Lady Way was also very youthful, and he wondered how their positions had come about.

Frank almost baulked at the sudden appearance of his new master, completely forgetting his manners for a few moments before he managed to stutter a greeting and bend his head politely. “Lord Way – I am most sorry for my rudeness—”

“It’s quite fine, Master Iero. My wife didn’t tell you we don’t agree with that nonsense?” Lord Way glanced at his wife, who was seated at the table nearby and was deep in conversation with an older woman. “Here, we respect politeness but we do not expect you to be our subordinates. I would prefer you called me sir, if you must.”

Frank’s head was still reeling slightly, but he managed to nod, and he glanced backwards seeking reassurance from Tilly. She grinned, said hello warmly to Lord Way, and took Frank’s hand and pulled him with her to the table.

There was about twenty seats, but only half were currently occupied. Lord Way followed behind them and took the one at the very far end, next to his wife and her companion. Tilly nodded at them both, then motioned for Frank to take a seat with her on the other side. At least this he could deal with. 

“Do they eat with everybody?” Frank asked in a low voice as he glanced around the room, which was buzzing with activity. Everybody seated looked entirely comfortable, albeit obviously from a wide range of social standings, and even those who were currently serving and pouring wine were joking and exchanging pleasantries with others.

“No, no,” Tilly said, for once quietly. “The staff are all invited, but few find it comfortable. Most take their food in their quarters, or with the kitchen servants in one of the Steward’s rooms afterwards. My mam and I always come here though. I fear the lady would be upset otherwise.” She nodded towards Lady Way and the woman she was deep in conversation with. Frank was surprised, because he’d expected Tilly’s mother to be a mirror image of herself. This woman was much more stately in her mannerisms, and her hair was much darker, almost as dark as Lady Way’s own black hair.

“How strange,” he murmured, still feeling completely out of his depth, and Tilly laughed lightly and nodded.

“It’s all very strange here, my friend. You’ll get used to it.”


	3. Anthurium

Tilly arrived in the morning, explaining she was there to take him to the children’s rooms for the first week in order to ensure he didn’t get lost (“We haven’t found the last lad that got lost yet,” she told him with a laugh, and although he was sure she was joking, it did seem plausible with the neverending corridors.)

The children’s rooms were, as he expected, in the middle of the manor, quite near, he was sure, to the master rooms that the lord occupied. They also lived up to their name, in the sense that it was indeed several rooms. 

Seven, to be exact. 

“Two bedrooms, their playrooms, a classroom, a library,” Tilly said as she showed him inside, pointing to a few open doors leading off the main room. Every room he glanced quickly in was opulent and beautifully decorated, in line with the rest of the manor house, and surprisingly neat although there was an armchair piled high with discarded books in the main room. “Their reception rooms, and, oh, I cannot forget, the guest room.”

“They have a separate room for guests?” Frank questioned, perplexed at the idea of his new young wards having so many guests they required accommodation for them.

Tilly said nothing, although she looked amused at his question, and then rang a bell which was attached to one of the walls. 

There was an excited cry from an adjoining room, and then a young girl barrelled out and straight towards Tilly. She was only small, but she managed to make the woman take several steps back in her enthusiastic embrace. “Tilly!” she cried joyfully, throwing her chubby arms as far around her waist as she could. “I’ve missed you!”

“Miss Elena Adeline Way, is this the way we act in front of new people?” Tilly chided gently, as she crouched down to the girl’s height and, beaming, smoothed some of her unruly dark hair down. “I missed you too, Elsie.”

The girl took a step back, apparently only then noticing Frank’s presence, and turned her head inquisitively to the side. She was pale, and still had the rounded, red cheeks of youth. Frank thought she looked about six, but she didn’t speak like she was six. “Are you our new teacher?” she asked. 

“I am.”

“Will you teach us boring things?”

“I’m afraid I must.”

“How about the wars?”

“If your mother approves.”

The little girl wrinkled her nose up slightly, then nodded. “’spose you’ll do.”

Frank bit back his laughter at the precocious young girl, but then his attention was distracted her brother emerging from the room that Tilly had explained was the library. He was well-grown boy of ten, somewhat wiry, with big eyes and a small upturned nose and long hair which was brushed hastily back as if he'd been annoyed by it. Frank decided, as he had thought before, he was definitely a miniature version of his father.

“This is Arthur,” Tilly said. “He’s a bookworm and a daydreamer and one of the best children I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

The little girl – Elsie – stomped her foot slightly, crossed her arms, and said, “I’m the best child.”

“You’re both the best,” Tilly agreed warmly. “And you’ll both behave for Master Iero, won’t you? I don’t want to have to tell Gilly you’ve been naughty.”

“I’ve never been naughty,” Elsie said, tossing her head to the side as if to dismiss this comment.

Arthur made a noise, apparently out of disbelief, and then said, “Sister, you’d much rather play with unicorns than sit patiently through our lessons.”

“That’s because they’re _boring,_ ” she huffed back. “I want to learn about the fun things!”

“We will do both,” promised Frank, hoping to placate the child before it ended in tears.

Tilly laughed gently, patted Elsie’s hair, and then said, “I must get back to my rounds.” There was protests from Elsie, but she extracted herself deftly from the young child’s embrace with promises to be back soon. “Send for me if you need anything, Frank,” she called over her shoulder as she left.

And then it was just Frank, and the two children. Elsie was still looking up at him curiously, and he was suddenly hit with the realisation that he was now expected to take charge. Oh dear, he thought. 

“Uh, well,” he began, as confidently as he felt. “What were you learning last?”

“War!” Elsie shouted eagerly. “And giants! And dragons!”

Arthur shook his head at his younger sister in the way older brothers were perfect at, and then said, “Don’t be silly. We were learning arithmetic.”

Frank thought dragons sounded much more exciting.

**

He peered into the classroom first, which was a small room, much more sparsely decorated than the rest, with a blackboard and a wooden table, and decided it looked much too imposing for the first lessons. 

Instead, he asked Arthur to show him his favourite place. Arthur smiled slightly and took him into the library he’d emerged from. It was small, but surprisingly well-stocked for a children’s one. There were walls of shelves full of books, all neatly labelled and obviously well cared for, and big, arched windows which illuminated the dust particles in the air in a strangely beautiful way.

There were a four over-stuffed armchairs against one wall which Arthur pointed towards and said, “I like the peace and quiet here.”

“Perfect,” Frank said as he motioned for them to take a seat.

Elsie bounced on the heels, then said, “Wait! I need to get something!” 

Before Frank could react, she darted back out of the room. A second later, she returned with a doll she offered to Frank, and said, “This is Fanny. Mama gave her to me last Christmas, isn’t she pretty?”

The doll was, indeed, very pretty, made of fine material and a bright, cheerful expression that only slightly unsettled him. He grinned down at it, and said, “Hello Fanny,” and this appeared to appease Elsie, because she held out her arms until he returned the doll to her and then she took a seat next to her brother.

“How good are you with subtraction?” he asked once they’d both settled down. 

Elsie made a wrinkled face, and said, “I hate sums. They’re useless!”

“They’re not,” Frank said, gently. “They’re very useful!”

“How?” she replied hotly, which was exactly what he’d expected from the young child.

Frank paused for a moment, thinking over their earlier conversation, then said, “Well, what if, say, you are a great adventurer?” Suddenly, he had her interest. She sat forward slightly. “And there’s a king, who wants you to slay a dragon and return the two hundred gold pieces it has taken!”

“I could do that!” she said eagerly, nodding.

“Of course! But what if, you slay the dragon, and then you don’t know how much gold is the king’s?”

Her eyes glistened; she was silent a minute as if reflecting, then said, “I’d take it all!” 

Frank shook his head. “But that’s not fair on the villagers whose gold it really is. What you should do is count it, and then you should offer the gold the king lost back to him, and the rest should go back to the other people the dragon took it from. Wouldn’t you say that’s a much better solution?”

Elsie paused once more, as if considering, and then she slowly nodded. “’spose,” she said softly. 

“Suppose,” Arthur correctly. He was staring intently at Frank, and there was a small smile on his face. Apparently, even the bookworm was taken by tales of dragon-slaying.

Frank grinned at both of his new students. Suddenly, this didn’t seem quite as hard as he’d first thought.

**

Elsie was, despite her protests, extremely good at the first sums about dragon treasure he offered her, and even Arthur, who had been exceedingly quiet, appeared to warm up reasonably quickly. In fact, he was quite surprised by how smart they both were. Before long, they’d gotten through subtraction, and he’d realised they could easily do it past two hundred, and moved onto multiplication, which made Elsie frown and grumble, but they managed it together.

By noon, Frank’s voice was half-hoarse from spinning tales of adventure in order to keep their attention, but he was pleased with their progress. 

Their lessons were interrupted by the bell, which surprised Frank, but the two children jumped joyfully up and ran from the room. He quickly followed and wasn’t surprised to see Tilly there, bearing platters of sandwiches and a big smile.

“Have they behaved themselves?” Tilly asked, holding the platters just high enough that Elsie couldn’t snatch a sandwich, despite her best efforts.

“They’ve been very good.”

“Excellent,” she said proudly. “Come on, ducks. Lunch!” She lead them both over to a table sat against one of the far walls, and laid the platters down carefully. Once they were both settled down and happily munching away on the food, she returned to Frank’s side and said, “I have some for you as well, sir, don’t you worry.”

“Please don’t call me sir.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Would you rather master, or my lord, or maybe your grace?” He could tell she was joking, but he flinched slightly at the titles, because he was most definitely not in the right social standing to accept any of them.

“Frank will do.”

“If you say so, m’lordship,” she said as she pulled a small silver dinner trolley into the main room, and pointed him towards it. “There’s yours and more for the two monsters as well, they will demolish anything you put in front of them.” She dropped her voice to a surreptitious whisper. “Don't tell anybody I mentioned this, but I have heard already there is a campaign underway to fatten you up. The cooks believe you to be scrawny because you have not been cared for properly.” She laughed at his startled expression. “I do not mean to alarm you, but the cooks have been on a mission to fatten up Lord Way for the past five years with little success yet.”

He decided to take his lunch in the school room, where he had a good view of the children but he wasn’t hovering anxiously over their shoulders. It seemed to be a better option.

He regretted this almost instantly when Tilly had disappeared and he was tucking into the sandwiches when there was a sudden loud clatter and a yell outside. He glanced up, alarmed, to see the chair Elsie had previously been sat on was now tipped sideways on the floor, and the girl herself had vanished. Immediately leaping to his feet, terrified, he charged out of the schoolroom, ready to confront whatever had happened. He felt a bit like a mother bear.

To his relief, Elsie had not, in fact, been surreptitiously kidnapped by a masked intruder. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite sure what was happening, even as he saw that she was chirruping happily with her arms and legs wrapped tightly around the torso of a man he didn’t recognise, who was grinning and embracing her back.

Frank paused for a moment, confused, and then Arthur threw himself at the man too from the side, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist in-between his sister’s own embrace. The man seemed to take this in his stride, despite the fact he now had two children hanging off of him.

There was a moment where they all ignored Frank, and then he cleared his throat loudly and said, “Uh, pardon me?”, which was a little less assertive than he was going for, but at least it worked, because all three turned their heads. The children were both grinning. The man looked slightly sheepish.

“Hello,” he said. There was something about his open expression that made Frank want to trust him at once, even as unsettled as he was. He had very pretty eyes, but that didn’t really explain anything. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“It’s fine,” Frank said, even though he was pretty sure it wasn’t. “Why are the children using you as a climbing frame?”

The man shrugged as best as he could with Elsie still tightly gripping his shoulders, although now he shifted her slightly so she rested more on his hip than his front. He wasn’t wearing particularly ornate clothes, but they also weren’t cheap like Frank’s own, and – which was new to Frank entirely – he’d rolled the cuffs of his shirt up his arms to his elbows so his pale wrists were on show. It might have been strangely attractive, if Frank had stopped to consider it. “I haven’t the slightest idea. Isn’t it marvellous? I feel a bit like a tree.”

“A tree,” Frank said faintly. “Right.”

“You must be Master Iero?” the man continued, as if there was nothing particularly strange about the situation. “I’ve heard a fair amount about you.”

“He’s our new teacher!” Elsie yelled in the way children were apt to do, despite the fact there was no reason to. “He taught us about dragons! And I slayed one!”

Frank flinched, worried that he was about to get told off for his more liberal teaching methods, but instead the man’s grin widened, which suited him very much. “Dragons!” he repeated happily. “I love dragons.” He nodded firmly, then awkwardly lowered Elsie to the floor, and pried Arthur’s arms from around his waist. “Well, why don’t you two tell me all about the dragons over lunch? I’m starving.”

“Uh,” said Frank, bemused, as the man strode over to the table with the two children following behind like his freshly-hatched ducklings. “Sorry, who are you?”

The man glanced up, as if surprised at the question, and then he shook his head. “My apologies. I forgot to introduce myself, didn’t I?” 

Frank waited a few moments, then, when no further information was forthcoming, said, “Yes?”

“You can call me Gerard, if you like, although most people don’t.”

“Okay – Gerard.” He frowned, puzzled. “What do most people call you?”

“Oh, this and that. I get all kinds. But that’s not really important.” He flapped a hand as if illustrating this. “What is important is, are there any little cakes?”

“Cakes?” Frank felt a bit like an echo at this point.

“Yes, I’d rather like a lemon cake right now. Wouldn’t you? Jamia makes the most marvellous little cakes.” He turned his gaze on Arthur, who had returned to his discarded sandwich. “Arthur, where are the cakes today?”

“Trolley,” mumbled Arthur through a mouthful of food, gesturing vaguely at the trolley of food that Tilly had delivered earlier. 

Elsie squealed in delight and held out her arms until Gerard scooped her up again and took her with him to the trolley to discover these little cakes. Frank was still trying to figure out this new man and why the children were so enamoured with him. After a moment’s hesitation, he followed him over to the trolley.

“Uh, do you come here often?” he asked half-heartedly.

“Not as much as he used to,” Elsie replied instead, sticking her bottom lip out slightly.

“She’s right. I’ve been very busy lately. It’s most inconvenient, being an adult. I don’t recommend it.” He didn’t look up, too busy in his quest for the lemon cakes.

Frank decided there wasn’t much point trying to skirt the issue any more, and decided, despite the fact it made him feel like an idiot, to come right out and say it. “Sorry, forgive me for my ignorance, but what exactly do you do around here?”

“You’re forgiven,” Gerard said unhelpfully, then, “I do all sorts. Sometimes I write. Occasionally I draw and paint. Mostly I just haunt the place.” 

“Gee the ghost!” Elsie said happily.

Gerard nodded slightly, and then he uncovered one of the platters which had three neat rows of very little and very adorable little cakes on it. “Ooh look, Jamia's sent us lemon and chocolate cakes today. Well aren’t you spoilt?” Gerard laughed and turned to Frank. “She’s gonna make them into tiny pigs, and then I’ll probably get blamed.”

“’m no pig!” Elsie, apparently, took offense to this. “You’re a pig, uncle!”

“Nobody is a pig,” Frank said tiredly. Then his brain seemed to catch up to what was just said. “Wait, _uncle?_ ”

“That’s one of the many things I get called, although mostly by these two,” Gerard said agreeably. “I suppose you could do it too, if you want. Although I feel you’re rather too old to be my nephew.”

“You’re their uncle?”

Gerard looked a bit puzzled, which suited his expressive face rather well. “Well, yes.”

Frank’s heart dropped slightly. “You’re Lord Way’s _brother?_ ”

“This is a rather repetitive conversation, isn’t it?” Gerard picked up one of the little cakes with one hand and offered it to Elsie. “I am. His older brother, in fact, but don’t remind him of that. I think he still resents me for running off to the continent when I was meant to inherit the estate. It’s all rather tiresome, being the lord of a manor.”

Frank was too shocked to listen to most of this, thinking of his less than polite greeting of the other Way everybody had forgotten to tell him about and how bad this would reflect on his new position at the manor. “I – I am so sorry, I didn’t know – oh, don’t tell Lord Way, please.”

“Tell him what?” Gerard looked confused. “Would you like a cake?”

**

Gerard – Lord Way, his mind reminded him sharply – settled the children down once again with sandwiches and cakes, but instead of the table, he insisted they grab cushions and make themselves a comfortable nest on the floor. Frank watched, still cautious, as the children happily obliged, and then when they were all sat down comfortably, he looked up at him.

“Aren’t you going to join us, Master Iero? Or do you have a special teacher room to retreat to?” His tone was light and teasing, but Frank still flushed a little bit. 

“I’d prefer Frank,” he said, embarrassed. He took a place next to Arthur, who offered him one of the sandwiches he’d brought over. He took it, thankful to have something to focus on. He was entirely out of his depth, and he was very uncomfortable with it. 

“Sounds marvellous, and I’d much prefer you did call me Gerard. I am not an Earl, anyway.” Gerard smiled at him over the top of Elsie’s head, which she had buried in his neck for no apparent reason.

This whole manor was absolutely crazy, Frank decided. Was this all some sort of joke? He couldn’t quite understand why everybody seemed to be a little mad. Perhaps this was some hazing ritual. 

When Elsie and Arthur were both focused entirely on their food once more, Frank took the chance to look properly at Gerard, and it only took him a few moments to see the resemblance to the other Ways, although he had none of his brother’s formal airs. His hair was particularly messy, quite alike to young Arthur’s, as if he ran his fingers through it too many times a day, and they had matching noses. Aside from that, he had fine, delicate features compared to his brother’s more angular ones. Some people might have almost called him pretty.

Not Frank, of course.

He seemed to notice Frank’s less than subtle staring, because he turned and grinned at him, his hazel eyes dancing slightly. “Are you trying to work out if I’m really a Way?”

That was exactly what Frank was doing, but he still protested. “What – no – of course not –”

“Everybody does it. They see my brother and they go, ah, yes, now _he’s_ a lord.” He shrugged, as if this didn’t bother him at all, even though Frank had never met _anybody_ who was part of a landed family who didn’t care about keeping up appearances. There were some that kept servants they couldn't afford on just to look like they could. “I quite like it. I get to stay in the background. Messy business, being a lord.”

Frank felt strangely bold, and said, “And your brother?”

Gerard huffed a small laugh. “Much more suited to it. He and Alicia have made themselves a beautiful home here, and there’s not much that I can say against it. Except there really should be more balls. I enjoy the chance to eat far too much.”

“Mama says this year I can go to a ball if I’m a good girl,” Elsie said, spraying crumbs onto the floor, her brother, and Gerard in a magnificent arc. “I can wear a dress, and I can have a really nice tiara, and I can be a princess, and nobody can tell me no!”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, sister,” Arthur offered without looking up. “They’re very boring.”

“Miss Elsie, don’t talk with your mouth full.” Frank, despite the weirdness of the situation, felt that he was still meant to keep her manners in check. 

“You won’t be able to tell me that when I’m a princess,” she huffed.

“Frank is quite right. Princesses don’t spray their courtiers with cake crumbs.” Gerard shook his head, and tapped Elsie’s nose with one finger. Frank couldn’t help but notice it was stained with dark ink, and when he glanced at Gerard’s other hand, he realised that one had various colours of ink smudged into the skin too. 

“I’m going to be a warrior princess,” Elsie said proudly.

Gerard nodded. “Excellent choice. Can I be the court jester?”

She giggled, high and melodic. “Don’t be silly, uncle, you’re already our jester.” 

Frank bit back his laugh at the way Gerard’s nose wrinkled up slightly.

**

After lunch, Lord Way’s strange brother disappeared, and then Frank took a few too many minutes trying to wrangle both of the children back into their lessons until, in desperation, he agreed they could actually act out one of the next fantastical mathematical tales. Elsie seemed particularly pleased with this, because she immediately declared that Frank was to play the swooning maiden, even though they hadn’t actually decided on a tale yet. Frank thought there were worse roles to have, so he took it on with gusto.

By the end of the afternoon, he was exhausted but proud, as both of the children had paid rapt attention the whole way through, and when Tilly appeared again – this time with her mother at her side, who offered Frank a small smile and a bigger one to the two children – he sent them off with them to play for the rest of the day.

Finally alone, he retreated to his room, although it took him a lot longer than it should have because he got lost at least three times (at one point, he wandered into a room which was just full of creepy, dead-eyed, life-size statues, and decided that he was never going to voluntarily visit that room again.)

His bed had been neatly made, and there was a little note on one of the pillows. Curious, he picked it up. The writing was neat and swooping, obviously the work of somebody who had been trained in penmanship.

_Welcome to our home, Frank. I hope you have found everything to your liking so far. Please, feel free to seek me out if you have any enquiries. I am always happy to listen._

_I hope the children weren’t too tiring today. They can be quite a handful. Gilly is particularly good at controlling them if they are acting out. I do try and raise them right, but children have quite a mind of their own sometimes._

_Warm wishes,  
Lady Alicia Way_

He smiled at the note, taken by surprise that the lady of the house had gone out of her way to pass on a note to her new staff member. He took it over to the desk and placed it carefully in one of the drawers, and decided that he’d spend the rest of the day looking over one of the illustrated books Arthur had insisted he take from the library earlier, as it was the young boy’s favourite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically all children of earls would be referred to as 'Miss' and 'Master' at all times, but it is rather tiring and repetitive, so I may leave it out sometimes. I'm lazy.


	4. Chrysanthemum

The next day was much the same, although there was no surprise visitors halfway through, and around lunch a nasty storm struck which led to the three of them staring for quite some time out of the window whilst Frank tried to explain what the loud clashes and booms actually were.

“They say that it’s made out of electricity, you know,” he told the rapt audience. Arthur had almost pressed his nose against the glass as he stared at dark clouds and occasional flashes of light. “Electrical fire from the heavens.”

“Does this mean God is angry at us?” Elsie asked quietly, glancing quickly at him before returning her attention to the storm clouds outside.

“I wouldn’t say so. Perhaps he’s gifting us with something.” Frank smiled down at her. “The earth is a wonderful place. Rain creates life, and so does the sun. Both, in their own ways, are precious gifts.” 

He left them to stare for a long moment then said, “Come on. Back to work now. I wouldn’t want your mother thinking I was letting you slack off.”

“ _I_ wouldn’t tell her,” Elsie said petulantly, glancing sideways at her brother.

**

That night, Tilly took him to the Steward’s quarters to meet a few more of the staff so he wasn’t quite so lost.

As soon as she walked in, she was attacked by red-haired lady in a hug. “So you aren’t too high and mighty to come see us anymore,” the lady said, as Tilly laughed and returned the embrace just as strongly.

When they’d broken apart, Tilly stepped back and waved at Frank. “Frank, this is Chantal. She’s my sister, albeit not in blood.”

“But most people call me Chantie, unless they’re in a mood, you see,” Chantal said, sweeping broadly around herself. “And as if _I_ could be related to the great Tilly.”

“Hush, girl,” Tilly said, half-rolling her eyes.

“I’m most sorry my father is not a knight,” Chantal continued, apparently not listening or not caring. Frank decided he quite liked her. She was shorter even than Tilly, with an overly-expressive mouth and the tendency to wave her hands around as she spoke, and everything she said sounded genuine and honest.

“A knight?” Frank questioned, amused at this revelation.

Tilly sighed the sigh of someone who had explained this too many times. “My father was knighted because he laid the first brick to a bridge that the Queen particularly liked. I daren’t say people normally have grander reasons for their knighthood. Besides, I inherit nothing of such a courtesy title.”

“You’re an interesting lady, Tilly.”

She grinned and bowed. “Always here to please. Now come on, I want you to meet the kitchen girls. They’ll like you, you’re a pretty boy.”

“A pretty _man!_ ”

**

On his day off, which came at the end of a very tiring week of lessons, Frank found himself at a bit of a loss. When he’d accepted the job, he’d known there would be at least two days off a week, but he hadn’t quite thought about what that really entailed. Tilly, his only real friend in the manor, was off to the nearby villages to pick up produce (and, she confided in a whisper, to see if there was a cute farmer around to stare at.)

He wrote another letter to his mother, although he hadn’t yet received a reply (he never worried about her slow replies, as her hands were sore and stiff now, and he was quite happy to write to her endlessly with news of the manor if it soothed her mind.)

After, he found himself wandering aimlessly for a while, until he, quite by accident, chanced across one of the most amazing rooms in the manor. At least in his opinion. The rather nondescript door had been left open, which he took as an invitation to at least peer around, and that’s when he saw the vast numbers of books and his mouth almost dropped open in surprise. He hadn’t seen such a collection in his entire life – it must have been worth thousands – and he couldn’t quite contain his surge of happiness. It put the children’s library to shame, with the wide, grand staircases on either side of the room which led to little balconies heaving under the weight of their shelves.

Without meaning to, he found himself taking a few hesitant steps inside. The room was monastery quiet, cool, with drawn curtains which let only some sunlight into the room. There were no candle holders in there. He wondered briefly if it was to protect some of the books that looked like they could easily be a hundred years old.

One in particular, lying open on a nearby table, caught his eye because somebody had left an ornate bookmark on one of the pages. He walked over and carefully picked it up, intent on finding out what the title was and why it had been abandoned there.

“Mendel’s principles of heredity,” said a voice behind him. “Fascinating stuff. Quite wonderful. It’s amazing nobody came up with it before. I think I might have, but I didn’t have enough peas.”

“I – I’m sorry?” Frank turned around, and he wasn’t even surprised to see Gerard leaning against the doorway. He was dressed much more like his station befit him this time, with a fitted, black morning coat with ornamental golden buttons on the waist seam which matched those on his waistcoat. Frank felt underdressed in his plain linen shirt, but he’d quickly found that he could not keep up with the fashionable attire of the others in the household, and he didn’t particularly want to try.

“Extraordinary what a monk and five thousand peas can do,” Gerard continued instead, taking a try long strides into the room, his familiar smile in place. “I feel I’d have made some sort of art piece instead, and then the world would have been a brighter yet ever more ignorant place. Isn’t that always the way?”

“I’m quite sure your pea creation would indeed have brightened the world,” Frank offered, still confused, but trying – in vain – not to show it. He wasn’t sure yet if Gerard was, indeed, touched in the head just a chance. It would explain why he was talking to him, at least.

Gerard’s smile widened into a brilliant grin. “Thank you. So, why, may I ask, are you snooping in my family’s library?”

“I – I’m not snooping! I just – wandered in,” Frank explained weakly, realising with the book in his hand this was a particularly bad response.

“I do find libraries quite alluring. I can’t say I blame you. Besides, Mendel makes more sense to me than Lamarck ever will.”

“I wish I could agree, but I’m afraid I have never read either.”

Gerard’s grin disappeared, replaced by an expression of shock which drew too much of Frank’s attention to his mouth. “Never? That must be remedied. Please, wait here.” 

In a few easy strides, he disappeared up one of the staircases, leaving Frank awkwardly still holding the book he’d picked up, and more confused than ever. 

When he returned, Frank expected him to hand over one book. Instead, he came back with at least four in his arms, and what looked like a thin pamphlet as well. Frank tried not to betray his wariness. He only had so many hours in a day, after all.

Gerard seemed to read this in Frank’s expression anyway, because he laughed gently. “You don’t have to read them all straight away. It’s only a few of my favourites. Lamarck, Darwin, Malthus. I couldn’t find Paley, but I don’t particularly think his work is unique anyway.” He offered the books to Frank, who carefully placed down the one he’d picked up in order to the take heavy pile.

“You won’t miss them?” he asked, cautiously, as he looked down at the books he was sure must be worth at least his annual salary, if not more.

“I don’t think I will ever read every book in here, although I have made a valiant effort. I think I know everything about reading, except how to enjoy it.” Gerard looked around the room and then added, “I believe a wise women once wrote, ‘I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.’”

Frank wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the generosity, nor the cheerful chatter, so he just stared at the books, and said, “Thank you. I shall try my hardest to finish them so you may take them back.”

“I wouldn’t worry. Would you like to join me for a walk? Betty says she found an old wine cellar of ghosts in the gardens. I don’t quite believe her, but I feel that something along those lines must be explored by a brave adventurer, and Elsie did say you were quite one yourself.” He paused for a moment. “Although I’m sure you do play the damsel well too.”

Frank flushed slightly, unsure how Gerard had heard so much about the exploits the children and him had got up to and not quite sure he wanted to know. “Uh – I should take these back to my room,” he said instead, trying to motion with his arms full of books.

“Oh yes! Let me help. Which way is it?”

He paused momentarily. “An excellent question I fear I may not be able to answer.”

**

They found his room much easier with Gerard’s knowledge – and even skirted the creepy statue room, which Gerard admitted freaked even him out – and then, when Frank had settled the books carefully on his desk, Gerard repeated his story of the haunted wine cellar, and Frank didn’t quite known how to say no.

Which is how he found himself picking through overgrown shrubbery behind the manor in the middle of the day, trying not to step in anything which would ruin his shoes – purely because he only had one pair – and trying to keep up with Gerard’s joyful strides. He didn’t seem to care about his expensive morning coat getting destroyed, and Frank only slightly resented him for it.

“How can there be a wine cellar nobody has found until now?” Frank yelled, slightly out of breath and trying not to show it. His lungs were less than excellent at the best of times, and Gerard had a very long stride which he was not accustomed to.

“You’d be surprised. Just last year, I found two bathrooms and a bedroom that belonged to our mad aunt,” Gerard called over his shoulder. “She was still there, knitting our baby booties.”

Frank wasn’t entirely sure if he was joking. He diverted his attention back to where he was stepping, and that’s why he almost ran straight into Gerard, who’d stopped without warning and was staring intently at something on the ground.

“What is it?” he asked, not quite sure what had captured his attention considered all Frank could see was a few flowers, some more shrubbery, and weeds. It wasn’t exactly awe-inspiring.

“Chrysanthemums. It must have been planted here before and forgotten about. How fascinating.” Gerard crouched down lower to look at the flower, which Frank thought was particularly unforgettable. It was red, and looked much like flowers often did, with petals in a round shape and a stalk. Gerard, however, was gently running his fingers along the edges, the same way somebody might touch their lover’s shoulder.“They’re from China. Some call them dragons, because they’re poisonous but they look so pretty.”

“Should you, um, be touching it then?”

“I think I need to ingest it for there to be any trouble.” Gerard half-shrugged, and then grinned up at Frank. “I don’t suggest you eat strange plants.”

“I’ll try not to.”

Gerard hummed slightly, looking pleased at his discovery. “I like flowers. People have forever associated meanings with them. You know that the chrysanthemum is particularly associated with death? And yet, we believe red ones to be a symbol of love. It’s odd.”

“Do people often present their loves with poisonous plants?”

“Oh yes. Strangely often. Have you heard of wolf’s bane? Deadly plant. Absolutely beautiful. Can kill somebody in hours.” He sounded strangely gleeful. Frank tried not to linger on it. 

“Shall we go see some ghosts?” he offered weakly.

Gerard nodded enthusiastically. “I do believe something awaits that doesn't make sense. Let's go and poke it with a stick.”

The wine cellar was particularly unremarkable, buried in one far corner of the manor, overgrown with grass which had recently been disturbed. The old doors were dulled with age and spotted with water damage. And yet, somehow, despite the complete normalcy of it, chills ran up and down Frank's spine. He’d resolved not to be scared, the same way he’d told himself not to be when he was a child and his mother had left him alone at night so she could pick up more work to keep the roof over their heads. It hadn’t worked then, and it wasn’t working particularly well now. 

Gerard produced metal box of congreve matches and a small candle from one of his pockets as if this was completely normal, and then he grinned, struck the match against sandpaper and lit the candle in one smooth motion. Then, he took one of the old, rusty metal handles and pulled the doors to the cellar open. There was no light inside, and Frank thought it looked creepy even in the bright light of day outside. In fact, the darkness compared to the light outside made it feel even worse.

Gerard took the first few steps inside with his candle, and waved Frank to follow. He hesitated. The musty smell had already invaded his nostrils, and he wasn't quite sure he wanted to go any further. After a moment, Frank finally did follow him in, although he pressed his hand to the cold stone of the walls as he slowly clambered down the old, rickety steps. At the bottom, he looked around in the dim light of the candle. There were ancient brackets for candles on walls, every few feet, but they'd long been extinguished and forgotten about.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Gerard said, turning to look at Frank with the eager expression he’d had looking at the poisonous plants still in place.

“It’s something, that’s for sure.” He looked around more, noting the dark stone of the walls, the strange incline of the ceiling which meant the further you went in, the lower it got. “I don’t think if I was a ghost I’d choose here to haunt.”

“I think you’re right. It’s much to dank for my own tastes. I’d probably choose a castle.” Gerard nodded determinedly, and then took Frank’s arm with his free hand and started walking further in. “But we should still look around, I feel it would be a shame otherwise.”

They did look around, and Frank’s uneasiness started to slowly disappear as he got more comfortable in the dim light, and then he started to pay more attention to the excitement in Gerard’s voice as he found more things to be delighted by. It was rather endearing, particularly when he found the lone bottle of wine left behind and decided he would take it for research purposes, and he grinned brilliantly at Frank in the dark.

**

On the Monday after lessons, he returned to his room to find that there was a small yellow flower lying on his desk next to a note. 

_The asiatic ranunculus. Toxic, but shines with lustrous flowers._

_It means somebody is radiant with charms._

_I thought you’d enjoy this after our talk._

He smiled, and tucked the note carefully around the flower, and placed in the desk draw with Lady Way’s note. He wasn’t quite sure what he was meant to take from the gift of a toxic flower, but he felt it was meant in good faith. Particularly from somebody like the other Way brother.

**

During his next two days off, he read the four books that Gerard had lent him, back-to-back, cover-to-cover. Some parts of them he didn’t quite understand, but he got the general gist, and now, considering his conversation in the library, he understood the references to five thousand peas a little better now he knew that Mendel came to his conclusions on the passing on of traits through his studies of cross-breeding peas.

Monks were always quite strange, he thought.

He was eager the next day for lessons to come around, in the hope that Gerard would appear, and he could thank him for the books and return them. But sadly, he didn’t make an appearance.

Frank tried not to feel deflated as the day passed. Elsie, apparently noticing his less than grand mood, decided to help by dancing in circles around him, poking him with a stick she’d discovered on her latest outside adventure that she’d smuggled indoors under her voluminous skirts and yelling for him to fight back.

Eventually, he laughed, and picked up a nearby cushion and used it to fend off her feeble attacks, at least until Arthur emerged from the library, took in the sight for a few moments, and then charged for Frank’s ankles and sent them all tumbling into a breathless pile.

He felt better then.

**

It took Gerard until midweek to appear, but he did appear. He came before lunch, and, as Frank had come to expect, the two children immediately broke away from their lessons to throw themselves enthusiastically at him.

He waited, patiently, for Gerard to extract himself, and then smiled briefly at him before yelling, “Miss Elsie, Master Arthur, behave yourself, or we won’t do any more of the death scenes!”

This got their attention, because they immediately abandoned their uncle in favour of Frank, and grinned up at him. He wasn’t quite sure how the two young Ways had become quite so morbid, and obsessed with death and battle, but as long as it worked to control them, he wasn’t complaining.

They acted out a few scenes from classical plays about death until Frank’s voice was hoarse and he told them to take five minutes and play with each other quietly, and then he wandered over to Gerard, who had settled himself in one of the old bay windows with a little drawing pad and some pencils. 

“You know that pencil comes from the Latin word for brush, peniculus, which in turn is a diminutive form of penis,” Frank said, as he drew up a chair nearby, watching the deft movements of Gerard’s ink-stained fingers with almost too much fascination.

“Which in turn means a tail, particularly because pencils were made from the hairs of animal tails,” Gerard replied lightly, glancing up at him through his lashes. “Or were you trying to make me blush?”

“I would never,” Frank said, laughing gently into his hand at Gerard’s quirked eyebrow and lop-sided smile. “But if you did blush, I do feel it would suit you perfectly.”

“I have always been told I have the skin of a fair maiden,” Gerard mused. “Maybe one day I shall try dress in masquerade and see if I can convince a stranger.”

Frank paused, slightly taken aback by the suggestion, even as he imagined the slender Way in crinolines and corsets, with his long hair and his pale complexion. He felt his own cheeks flush red at the mental imagery. “Surely you jest?”

“Ah see, now you are blushing, and my job is done.”

Frank made a scandalised face, but it wasn’t like he could deny that he had indeed blushed. “Has anybody ever told you you’re quite peculiar, Gerard?”

“Oh, they never stop.”

Frank decided to change the subject back to his original reason for coming over, or at least that’s what he told himself because the warm smile Gerard was giving him unsettled him slightly.

“I finished those books.”

“Excellent. Did you enjoy them?”

“They were particularly interesting, although I must admit, I found some of the ideas were very far-fetched.”

“Always the way with eminent thinkers, which is why I prefer to leave my thinking to other people.” He sat up, and set aside his sketch, and when Frank glanced at it quickly he realised it was a sketch of the room when he’d been performing with the two children. He could see his own figure, made out of shadows, and the two children dancing around him, joyous grins in place.

“Shall I return them to the library?” he asked, snapping his attention away from the sketch because it made his head swim slightly.

“I wouldn’t bother yourself. Keep them, they will surely give you more entertainment than sitting in the old library.” He shrugged easily, and then added, “And if you wish for any more, let me know. I have many I believe you would enjoy just as much.”

They shared a small smile.

And then Elsie started screaming, and the moment was ruined.

“Frankie! Arthur hit Fanny!” 

**

Frank came to understand the young Way children better than he had understood many of his other charges. They were smart, quick-witted and despite their opposite personalities, they also were each other’s greatest supporters. The only way to engage them both was to speak to them as if they were not children at all, which Frank found he was rather good at. Once he reasoned with them, offering logic instead of authority, they would behave and listen to his arguments, even if it did mean occasionally he had to act out something a little more dramatically than their parents may have approved of.

That said, he didn’t think the elder Ways were particularly traditionalists, with their open dinner invitations and their constant presence in areas which were particularly reserved for staff. 

He’d already found Lady Way sat with Gilly, and Tilly, and a gaggle of other servants he did not yet know the names of, stitching and gossiping in one of the small salons.

And a couple of times, Lord Way had peeked his head into the children’s rooms during their lessons, and stayed to watch, which at first had immediately made Frank think the worst until Lord Way was laughing at his children’s behaviour and praising his methods.

He knew they were particularly fond of their children, unlike many of the aristocracy he’d heard spoken about, and when the day was over and the lessons had ended, often he would see Lady Way sat with both of them as they explained their lessons. Once, he caught her rolling in the grass outside, giggling, as her daughter tried to place a daisy crown on her brow.

It was quite refreshing, and quite terrifying to somebody like him who had been brought up with such rigid formalities engraved in his brain. Even when his mother’s infrequent letters appeared at his door, she reminded him gravely to watch his behaviour, keep his mouth shut, and think over every situation.

He only appeared at dinner a few times, even though they did not comment on his long absences. Other times, he joined the other servants afterwards, or took his food to his room, because he was still introverted at heart, and the dinners scared him quite a bit.

He noticed, too, that Gerard never made an appearance at the dinners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some boring history notes:
> 
> "I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library." One of my favourite quotes from Pride and Prejudice, which was published in 1813 which makes it actually quite an old book by the time this story is set.
> 
> Gregor Mendel was a bit of a bonkers monk that spent quite a few years breeding peas together in order to prove his theories on genetic inheritance. He published Experiments on Plant Hybrids in 1865, but sadly it was dismissed by the scientific community until he died. It's referred to as Mendel's Principles on Heredity in this story because a) that's the version I read (sorry history) and b) idk maybe Gerard's a bit dumb and doesn't realise.
> 
> Lamarck is Jean-Baptiste Lamarck, who worked on inherited traits such as alcoholism - his work has been dismissed as nonsense now, but it had quite a lot of sway at the time. Darwin probably does not need explanation. Robert Malthus wrote mostly on population and population growth. He was a bit of a bastard, but he spoke of abortion, birth control, prostitution, etc, quite freely. And finally, William Paley - a proponent of intelligent design.
> 
> Flower meanings are taken from Kate Greenaway's The Language of Flowers (1884 I believe?)


	5. Larkspur

“Can we go outside?” Elsie asked Frank as soon as he stepped in the door. She was stood in her angelic pose, the one Frank had learned she only adopted when she wanted something, with her feet together and her hands clasped behind her back, and her wide eyes tilted up at whoever she was trying to cajole. She'd only turned it on him a few times in the past weeks, and everytime he'd fallen into its traps.

“Did you do the reading I told you to do?” Frank replied mildly.

Elsie’s face fell. “No.”

Frank let her stay upset for a moment before he sighed and said, “I suppose we shall have to do that outside, then.”

He left the children under the careful supervision of Gilly and headed for the kitchens, which were at the back of the manor and always alive with movement and noise. He quite liked them – they were strangely soothing in their warmth with the smells of wonderful foods – and he’d found himself down there a few times in the past month, being fed scraps and regaled with tales of bad houseguests (although he’d never be able to look the Duke of Westminster in his eyes again after what he’d heard.)

Near the entrance was Mamie, the head of the kitchens, and the one who guarded them diligently with her rolling pin and a sour expression to those she had not taken to. Tilly had told Frank she’d been in the kitchens as a scullery maid herself when Lord Way’s father had been a boy, and she ran the kitchens like a well-oiled machine, albeit with a constant stream of complaints about her old joints.

When she saw Frank in the doorways, she narrowed her eyes.

“What are you standing grinning at, yer damned young fool?” She made to throw one of the nearby scones at him. “Always down here, causin’ a nuisance. What yer need from us this time?”

“I want a feast!” He spread his arms wide. “Fit for a king!”

“An’ I’d like three weeks off and a golden carriage. What of it?” She stared him down for a moment, but then broke into her wide-toothed grin, and flagged down one of the nearby scullery maids. “Lottie, see this rude man gets what he needs. The finest we have, ‘course, wouldn’t want to disappoint his lordship.”

Frank was going to have words with Tilly when he saw her next.

As Lottie led him away, he heard Mamie turn, the swish of her petticoats, and then she hollered, “And behave yourself, Lottie, I won’t have no flirtin’ in my kitchens.”

Lottie was a delicate girl, dark-skinned and bright-eyed, who looked as if she wouldn’t be amiss in one of the fantastical pictures of mythological creatures he’d seen on the walls. She giggled, and then turned to Frank. “Mamie had one of the Leadworth boys down here every day for a month looking for me, and now she thinks I am perhaps a siren.”

“You’re sure you’re not?”

“Would I be scrubbing the kitchens if I were?” 

“I suppose not, unless you were in hiding.”

Lottie smiled, grabbed his arm and pulled him with her towards one of the far ends of the kitchen. She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, we have some fresh bread, I shall get you some of that. Don’t tell Mamie.”

**

Lottie indeed gathered up a feast: fresh bread, leftover roast mutton and currant jelly from dinner, sausages, boiled ham, potato croquettes, slices of peach pie and stewed fruit. Frank wasn’t surprised – he’d never eaten better since he arrived at the manor, considering he’d survived the best part of his life on a mix of plain oatmeal and sometimes savoury suet pudding, when he’d had spare money to spend. He was starting to wonder if he was going to end up like poor Joe from the _Pickwick Papers_ by the end of his employment.

Lottie asked a few curious questions about his intentions, and he explained the children wanting to go outside, and the nice weather, and her eyes widened and she darted off. She came back with a handful of sugar cookies. “Master Arthur's favourite,” she explained as she tucked them into the bundle she was creating.

“You’re welcome to come back down and see me, sir,” Lottie said as Frank went to leave. A wave of embarrassment darted across his mind at the suggestive tone she'd adopted, and he was almost glad when Mamie interrupted.

“Lottie!” she snapped, raising her rolling pin. “The fool is here far too much as it is. I shall brain him next time.”

“Thank you, ma’ams,” Frank said, laughing, with an exaggerated bow as he escaped with his new picnic bundle.

**

It was a glorious day, to be fair, Frank realised as he led the children outside with his picnic bundle and several books under his arm. The height of summer had passed, but some of it still lingered, and the sun was high in the blue sky. There were barely any clouds, and the whole manor looked different bathed in the warm light. The pointed towers looked less foreboding, the grey-brick softened, and the gnarly trees of the forest almost looked inviting. Almost inviting, that is, because Frank was certain that spiders didn’t care whether it was sunny or not when they ate your face.

“We shall go to the orchard, and you both shall read,” he said firmly. “And if I’m satisfied with your work, you may spend some time exploring.”

Elsie was already dancing in circles, her arms spread and her face turned up to the warmth of the sunlight. “I feel like a faerie,” she said gleefully.

“Even faeries must go to school, Miss. Elsie,” he replied with a laugh. 

Arthur was already quite a few paces ahead, although Frank was keeping an eye on him. It was always the quiet ones you had to watch, he’d decided, after enough experience with terrifyingly bright children.

He found a spot for them between the trees, and Elsie threw herself down on her front. He winced at the idea of her expensive dress now being covered in mud, but she seemed not to care. Arthur settled himself down next to her, reaching out a hand and stroking her hair in one of his rare shows of brotherly affection.

Frank handed them the hardbound copy of Romeo and Juliet he’d taken from their library. Most children he’d taught did not have actual copies of plays, nor did they actually really study plays at all. But they seemed enamoured with the overly dramatic stories, even if he had to explain the vocabulary a lot, and if they were reading, he was content for the moment.

Arthur opened the book, settled it on his outstretched knees, and Elsie scooted up so she could see it as well. They looked positively angelic, for a single moment – 

“Move over, I can’t see,” Elsie whined, shoving her brother’s side, and then Arthur pushed her back, and she screeched and shoved him again.

Frank was almost relieved as he broke them apart.

**

It was a hard life, he decided, as he laid back against a tree, watching them carefully and enjoying the rays of sun on his skin. It had been a long time since he’d given himself time to relax like this.

They sat reasonably well as they read, so Frank’s attention wandered a bit. He was looking around the grounds when his eyes were caught by a flash of movement further into the orchard. Frowning, he sat up, and looked closer. Did the manor have wolves? That would be just his luck.

When he realised it was a shoe hanging from a tree, he relaxed for a minute. 

Until he realised the shoe was in fact attached to a leg, which was – he hoped, at least – attached to a body, and that meant there was somebody in the trees.

Were wolves or peeping toms better? He couldn’t quite decide.

“Wait here for a moment,” he told the two children, who barely glanced up, as he got to his feet and walked towards the mysterious shoe. “Who is that? Show yourself!” he yelled, trying to sound menacing, which might have worked if he wasn’t small as he was.

He wasn’t entirely surprised when Gerard’s voice called back, “Ah – I would, but I may also be stuck.”

“Dare I ask?” 

There was a small, awkward laugh above him. “Hmm, well. Perhaps it was a mistake, but I wanted to see if the views of the forest were better up here for my new painting, and then I realised why I hadn’t done it before, which is trees are not my friends.”

“Always a surprise,” Frank said dryly. “Do you require some assistance?”

“I would be in your debt. Could you take my drawings? I don’t want to throw them down.”

Frank nodded, then realised that was probably not very helpful to the man stuck in a tree, and said, “Yes.”

A few moments of fumbling and some words he was glad that the children were not there to hear and repeat, he had an armful of drawings, pens, and then, with some more encouragement, Gerard was lowering himself awkwardly out of the tree like a deer learning to walk. Or, a human learning to climb a tree. It was much the same.

“I think I scraped my palm,” Gerard said when he was back on firm ground, frowning at it.

“Let me see,” Frank said gently. He switched the drawings to his left arm, and took the offered palm with his spare hand. There was a scrape on it, red and angry, although it was nothing to write home about. “I think you may survive, although I am not doctor. Perhaps we should amputate it, just in case.”

“Not my drawing hand!” Gerard replied, scandalised. “I don’t think I trust your judgement.”

“A rather good call. I would wash it at least, myself. I think I have some water with the children.”

He led Gerard back to the children, who were still – surprisingly – engrossed in their tale. When she realised Frank had reappeared, Elsie looked up and grinned brightly. “Uncle! Frankie! What does open-arse mean?”

Frank blinked a few times, dumbstruck, whilst Gerard muffled his laughter behind his non-injured hand.

“Uh,” he replied, eloquently, once he’d processed what she had said. “Let me see that.”

Arthur passed the book up to him with the offending page.

_If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark / Now will he sit under a medlar tree / And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit / As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. / — O Romeo, that she were, O, that she were / An open-arse, thou a pop'rin pear._

“Oh yes, quite, uh. It – Mercutio is saying Romeo wishes his mistress was more, um. Welcoming?” Frank glanced at Gerard, who wasn’t being very helpful, considering he was still laughing to himself. He wasn’t quite sure Lady Way would take well to the actual explanation of the passage.

“I don’t like girls,” Arthur offered, as Frank passed the book back. “They’re mean.”

“Not many people do,” Gerard said with a nod. Noticing Elsie’s face fall, he added, “Except princesses, who are my personal favourites.”

“Uncle! Am _I_ your favourite?” she demanded, looking up at him with a stubborn-set mouth.

He grinned and crouched down. “Of course, Elsie. You have always been my favourite girl, since I saw your little face, and you screamed and kicked your father in the face your first day on this earth.”

Elsie seemed soothed by this, and her indignation was quickly forgotten because she broke into a grin and threw herself at him. She latched onto his neck, and almost sent him tumbling backwards with the force of her embrace.

“Come on, let me clean that hand of yours,” Frank said, ignoring how much seeing them interact made his heart swell. It was just the children, he told himself. Children could be very cute, when they weren’t screaming.

He fetched the water from the bundle of food, carefully placing the drawings he'd been entrusted with on top of the books he'd brought out, and then Gerard held out his hand so he could rinse it of all the dirt and debris from his adventures in tree climbing. Elsie was still clinging around his neck.

“May I kiss it better?” Elsie asked, all wide-eyed innocence, when Frank was satisfied with his work. “That’s what mama does.”

Gerard nodded. “Of course, little lady.” He offered his palm to her, and she delicately kissed the side of it.

“There! It’ll get better now, and then you’ll be stronger than ever!” Elsie nodded firmly, as this was a certainty. Then she frowned, as if thinking, and looked up at Frank. “You should do it too, and then it’ll work twice as fast!”

Gerard turned his grin on Frank, who squirmed a little under its intensity. “Yes, come on, Frank. What are you waiting for?”

Frank sighed, once, and Elsie took a handful of his shirt and tugged until he folded himself down on the ground. Gerard offered his palm out, and Frank kissed next to the tiny scrape. “There. Now you shall be right as rain.”

“I feel as good as new,” Gerard declared, fluttering his lashes slightly. His gaze switched then from Frank to the food, and Frank was slightly relieved. “Is that sugar cookies I see?”

Arthur, who had been focused intently on the play and ignoring the commotion, looked up then. “Sugar cookies?” he asked, as if somebody had told him that Christmas had come early.

**

Summer became fall, and the days became shorter, and Frank became more used to his new place in the Waywood Manor. He was comfortable, albeit still often confused. He'd resigned himself to being confused a significant amount of the time.

He still enjoyed the days that Gerard would appear, without warning, in the doorway of the children’s room. Occasionally, he came bearing gifts. Once, it was sketches of both of the children, but they’d been given unicorn horns and fangs. He was quite taken by those, although he hid them from Tilly’s eyes just in case she disapproved.

The next time, it was little gemstones, which Gerard promised were lucky charms he’d picked up from the continent from an ancient wise woman, a tale which Frank felt was pretty far-fetched. But when Gerard handed him one, he still did not expect it, and it made him grin stupidly at him for far too long until he came to his senses.

That night, he tucked that gemstone into his little drawer with the yellow flower and the notes.

**

“You're a child at heart,” Frank said fondly, when he walked into the children’s rooms one mid-week morning.

“Well, of course! There's no point in being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes.” Gerard nodded sagely, which would have been perfectly fine if not for the old, toy crown he’d balanced precariously on his head, and the stick he was wielding in his hand in order to battle Arthur.

“Heaven help us.” Frank glanced around the room, which had been turned almost upside down in the playful antics of his wards, and then added, “Well, who is going to hand me a stick? I cannot let this despicable rogue hurt my dear students.”

Elsie squealed in delight, and presented him with her own personal stick in order to challenge her uncle.

“En garde, foe!” Frank snapped, taking up the defensive position he'd seen lords do previously when they took part in the fashionable bouts of fencing in the Royal Agricultural Hall. It was a little bit less impressive considering he was wielding a stick instead of a sharpened sword, but he took what he could.

“A stick, a stick, my kingdom for a stick!” Gerard cried as he threw himself at Frank.

“Slave! I will stand the hazard of the die.”

They fell upon each other in a flail of limbs and laughter, neither trying very hard to land any blows. Elsie let out a loud yell which was apparently her war cry and threw herself into the fray, at which point both Gerard and Frank forgot how to use their sticks as actual weapons, and began to half-heartedly poke each other with them. Neither was willing to explain to Lord Way why his dear daughter had taken a stick to the eye in her tutor’s lessons.

Arthur watched, a wry smile on his face, but declined this time to join in.

Soon, Frank pretended to swoon, and threw up his hands in surrender. “I am but a weak man! Take my kingdom, take my wife!” He threw himself at Gerard’s feet, who laughed in a perfect mimicry of a theatre villain, and drew his stick sword across Frank’s exposed neck.

Frank slumped to the ground, and a minute later, he felt the impact of a six-year-old barrel straight into his ribs. He let out a pained ‘oof’, but sat up, and allowed Elsie to curl up in his lap despite her treatment of his dead body.

“I think you should be my uncle too,” Elsie said to Frank, as he tucked a strand of her untameable hair behind an ear, and she bounced happily in his lap.

Frank laughed. “I am sorry, pretty lady, but I am no more able to be your uncle than you are to be mine. I am but a poor man, sent to wrangle you into proper gentlepeople.” He glanced over at Gerard and noticed Gerard’s confident smile seemed to dim momentarily, but then it was back. 

“We are brothers in arms!” he declared, holding his stick aloft with overplayed grandiosity. He grabbed for Frank’s hand, and made him hold his own stick up, despite the fact he was still sat on the floor with a lap of overexcited child.

The touch make Frank’s skin tingle, and Frank thought, briefly, of the intense looks Gerard would give him, and how his appearances in his lessons, however disruptive they were for the children, would be something he looked forward to eagerly. He felt a flush race over his face, and spread through his body, as he realised that whilst Gerard may indeed consider them brothers-in-arms, his feelings towards him in turn were becoming far from brotherly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joe from the _Pickwick Papers_ \- Joe was a character in Charles Dicken's first novel, The Pickwick Papers (1836), who was known to fall asleep constantly due to his weight. 
> 
> _"If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark / Now will he sit under a medlar tree / And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit / As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. / — O Romeo, that she were, O, that she were / An open-arse, thou a pop'rin pear."_ \- It has been debated for years by scholars what Shakespeare meant with this passage, and whether he really was referring to anal (considering medlar fruit were called 'open-arse' as slang and Mercutio says Romeo wishes 'his mistress was that kind of fruit.'). Medlar fruit were still eaten in the 19th century, which means it was probably more of an obvious reference to them.
> 
> They wouldn't have actually had water to drink, because it was considered to be dangerous, so even young children would often drink tea, coffee, ale or beer. But uh, I thought it would make less sense to wash a wound with tea so *shrugs*
> 
> _“Slave! I will stand the hazard of the die.”_ \- King Richard III says this in Shakespeare's play, Richard III. Frank is a bit dumb, because he's replied to Gerard's (bastardised) quotation of Richard with another by him, but oh well. We can (probably) forgive him.


	6. Jonquil

“We’re having guests tomorrow,” Elsie declared excitedly when he stepped into their rooms the next morning. She was waiting with Fanny the doll under her arm, sat on the same fort of cushions they’d made in the first week that Frank hadn’t had the heart to clear away yet, even though it had been some months.

“What sort of guests?” he asked, curious because he’d heard nothing of that. The hallways had seemed particularly busy that morning, but Frank mostly walked now with purpose and his head tucked down in order to avoid the people he didn’t know. He hadn’t yet got used to the deferred nods he received as a member of the higher-salaried staff compared to the ‘lower’ ranks of the servants.

“Important guests! Big guests! Mama says they’re coming to introduce their daughters.” Elsie stared at her feet, and kicked at air in her endearing way of having a tantrum. “But I’m not allowed to come to the party. She says it’s not for children but I’m not a child anymore. I’m a warrior.”

“You are indeed, but you have a lot of growing before you are allowed to tell your mother that,” Frank said gently. 

“Will you go to the party and then come back and tell us all about it?” Elsie asked hopefully, her eyes wide with the pleading expression she was quite the expert at. “I’d rather hear about it from you than not at all.”

“I don’t believe I will be invited,” Frank explained. It was certainly not the place for somebody of his standing, and even if it was, he knew he would never fit in properly to such an event. 

Elsie huffed, and pulled Fanny closer to her so she had both her arms wrapped tightly around the stuffed body of the doll. “I don’t think it’s very fair.”

“It’s not. Now, shall we discuss something a little more important, like, perhaps, your lessons?” He glanced around, noting the absence of her brother. “Master Arthur,” he called sharply. “You must emerge from the library at some point.”

“I don’t want to learn,” she replied surlily, but she put Fanny to the side at his stern look, and then Arthur came sloping into the room and took a seat next to her. 

“Can we do battles today?” Arthur asked, eyes bright.

Frank clucked his tongue slightly, but since they’d moved onto history the day before, he couldn’t fault the boy for trying. “I suppose we can start with one. Have you heard of the Battle of the Stirling Bridge?”

Both children sat forward eagerly, Elsie’s former frustration at not being invited to the party was already forgotten at the promise of tale of battle.

**

After their lessons, Tilly arrived again, this time with Chantal who, it turned out, was there to take the children for their after lessons play session, because Tilly had other things she was expected to do.

The two children didn’t protest half as much as Frank had expected at the loss of Tilly, but perhaps that was because they could see that Tilly looked flustered, for once, her ruddy cheeks redder and her hair more wild than usual. They waved and bounced after Chantal, chattering excitedly about what they’d learned about Scottish bravado when outnumbered.

“It’s been a very busy day,” Tilly explained at Frank’s curious look. “I’ve been run ragged trying to get everything sorted for tomorrow. And for what! Parties are exhausting. I enjoy very few, tho’ this one is said to have some interesting guests.”

Frank shook his head, his mouth twisted sympathetically. “I’m not much of a party person. I shall probably hide myself in my room for most of it.”

“A wise plan, but I doubt you will stick to it. Lady Way says there should not be lessons tomorrow, as she wants to take the children to the village with her. I suppose it shall be a welcome break for your, m’lordship.” Tilly grinned her cheeky grin, the one that brightened up her whole face, and Frank fought the urge to glare back at her favourite nickname for him.

“I take the small blessings in life. I still have quite a stack of books to attend to, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh of course, books. Why would I think you’d do anything else?” She sighed exaggeratedly. “You are almost as bad as Master Way, holed up in his library all the time. I am most exhausted just thinking about it.”

“A book is an escape, Tilly, and sometimes you need those.”

**

He was halfway to his room when he saw Gerard, stood quietly in one of the main corridors and staring up at a large painting on the wall that Frank had never paid much attention to before. Frank paused for a moment, considering whether to approach the man who looked deep in contemplation, when his answer was provided by Gerard breaking his gaze away from the painting and glancing at Frank.

“How long have you been there?” he asked, one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, enough to suggest he expected Frank to have been there far longer than he had.

“Only a few hours,” Frank offered, walking over to see what had caught his attention to strongly. It was a portrait of a beautiful woman, with dark hair and dark eyes and a smile which radiated joy. She looked like she was in her late thirties, with small wrinkles around her eyes and laugh-lines etched in her cheeks, and the artist had captured the expression perfectly. “Somebody important?” he asked softly.

“Very,” Gerard said, nodding. “My grandmother, Elena, in her youth. She was quite the beauty.”

“I see where you get those cheekbones from now.”

Gerard smiled slightly, almost reluctantly. “I feel like you’re teasing me, Frank.”

“I wouldn’t dare do that, sir.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. She taught me to be who I am today. I am much obliged to her. She was one of the only people who supported me when I said I wanted to be an artist.” Gerard glanced down at his own hands, which were folded in front of himself, and his voice seemed to quieten slightly. “I fear many people have lost the art of empathy she wore so well.”

“I hope that’s not true.”

“No – well, I do hope you impart some of it on the young ones. They are very much my brother’s children, I can tell you that. I’m glad that Alicia was there to dilute some of his earnestness.” Gerard’s grin was back in place almost as quickly as it had disappeared, and he turned fully to Frank now. “Are you coming to the gathering tomorrow night? I hesitate to say party, for a fear that suggests it will be an enjoyable occasion.”

“You don’t think it will be?”

“Sadly, I am sure that Lord Queensbury’s daughter Lindsey has had her coming out at St. James, and Queensbury has his eyes on the bachelor Lord Way.”

“But your brother is already married,” Frank began to protest, before the words actually registered truly in his head.

“I see you have forgotten my true title already,” Gerard teased gently, the boyish glint back in his eyes. Frank didn’t like when it wasn’t there, truth be told, so it was almost relieving. “That will never do. I’ll have you know I only respond to your highness these days. And whilst Lindsey is a lovely lady, I am also sure she is rather not to my taste.”

“Perhaps you should hide in the library?”

“No doubt they’d find me in minutes. Could you perhaps offer a wardrobe?”

“I doubt they would take kindly to me sheltering you, _your highness._ ”

“Perhaps I shall go join the agapemonites, although I fear I am not wealthy enough for Reverend Prince's attentions.”

Frank laughed, louder than he’d expected. “Or, dare I say it, female enough.”

“You speak the truth. Well then there is only one thing for it. I must surround myself with friends who can act as a human barrier.” He sighed, and ran one hand through his messy black hair. “And thus you see why it is imperative you attend, for I only have a handful of friends I can rely on.”

Frank tried not to grin too much at the implication he was one of those friends, because that would be unseemly of him. “You have my word,” he said, as solemnly as he could.

“Excellent. Now, would you like to come see the skeleton that Mamie found the other day?”

“What is _wrong_ with this place?”

**

It was only the next day, when he was alone once more in his rooms, that he realised he did not have any clothes which would be remotely suitable for any type of formal ball. He was not somebody who easily broke promises, however, so he went in search of Tilly to see if she had a solution.

He found her in the kitchens, chatting quietly with both Lottie and Chantal, who all looked up when he arrived.

After he explained, they laughed too hard at his predicament for far too long for his liking, and then Tilly said, quite decisively, “I’m sure I can arrange something. Give me a few, and I will bring something to your room.”

Frank believed in Tilly, and he was not disappointed when she arrived an hour later with a bundle of expensive fabric in her arms and Lottie by her side. “Don’t ask how, but know I did not steal it,” she said, as she handed it to Frank. “It may not be a perfect fit, but I’m sure my mam can sort it out if necessary. She’s deft hand with a pin and she’s only taken an eye out once that I know of.”

“Reassuring,” Frank said, as he gently examined the clothes she had somehow procured. There was a formal morning coat, which was definitely in fashion, solid black with intricate decoration on the edging in the style he’d seen popular in the last few years, a plain waistcoat, and a cravat, which he almost wrinkled his nose up at.

“You should wear your own shirt and trousers, I’m sure you can manage that. I’ll be outside, call for me when you’re done.” Tilly grinned and left.

Lottie hung back a moment, and then said, “Do you need any help? I’ve been told I’m quite handy with a waistcoat, you know.”

“Lottie,” he exclaimed, slightly taken aback.

“I jest, sir, although I must return to the kitchens.” She was still smiling slyly though, in a way which made Frank think she wasn’t _really_ joking.

He found all the buttons a bit ridiculous, especially when he had to contest with not just his shirt, but also a waistcoat and a morning coat, and he wondered briefly how the upper class people didn’t just get so frustrated they gave up halfway through. Then he realised that’s why they had people who did it for them, which he suddenly understood when he’d buttoned the coat up twice the wrong way. Eventually, he was buttoned in, relatively securely, and he yelled for Tilly. 

She came bouncing back in, took a moment to look him up and down, and then said, “Oh, m’lord, it’s perfect! You’ll make all the maiden girls swoon. I can already feel my cheeks flush.”

“I don’t much like you,” Frank muttered, as she descended on him, tugging at lapels, adjusting the collar and lines of the coat.

“Don’t be silly, my darling. You would not survive here a day without my sunshine.” She petted his cheek softly, and added, “But I was not kidding. You play the part well. I might almost be convinced, if it wasn’t for this.” She moved her hand around and tapped his neck with one finger, and he paused for a moment, momentarily confused, before he realised what she was referring to. In his days on the merchant crew, he’d allowed one of his shipmates to mark his skin with the ink they considered part of their uniform. He’d collected only a few before he’d put those days far behind him, but one was one on his back which almost peeked out of his normal clothes. Apparently, Tilly was quite the astute observer.

“You’re the rogue of my dreams, and it is just a pity our love can never be,” she trilled happily. “Now, sort out your hair, or I shall sort it out myself.”

“What’s wrong with it?” he questioned, confused, checking his reflection in the mirror. It was growing quite long, he decided, but it wasn’t that bad, was it? He glanced back at Tilly, and she responded with a look which managed to say everything in no words at all.

**

If he had thought the hallways were busy a day ago, it was nothing compared to the day of the party. Everybody walked as if they had urgent business to attend to. Some of them were carrying fine carpets, which he assumed would be laid in the grand ballroom for the guests. Others were arranging decorative lanterns, perched precariously on ladders which made his stomach twist just watching. Even more were bringing in flowers, which were carefully arranged in silver vases – decorated even more intricately and obviously far more expensive than the normal ones which were on display. He wondered briefly if there was some symbolism to the flowers that had been chosen, then decided he was spending far too much time around people who were quite insane.

Chantal called cheerfully at him from where she was arranging food on platters in the main entryway, apparently for guests who found the walk from their carriages to the doors particularly ravenous work, and he waved back. He felt quite useless with nothing to do, but when he offered to help carry one of the carpets to a nearby servant, he was given a confused look and quickly dismissed with a polite “No, thank you, sir.”

It was only when he headed to the library he realised one of the reasons was because of how formally he was dressed. He was getting more attention than ever, and he didn’t particularly like it, so he was glad when he found the library deserted. It was silent compared to the bustle of the hallways, and he sunk gratefully into one of the chairs, deciding there were worse places to hide.

On the table today, somebody had left a book, but it had been hastily covered over with one of the nearby tablecloths. Frank stared at it, fighting a battle between curiosity and respect, and then – glancing once more about the room to make sure he was truly alone – he slid the book out from its hiding place and into his lap.

It was a new book, with crisp pages and an unwrinkled spine, but the front was curiously lacking information. ‘My Secret Life’ had been pressed on the front by a printer’s press, below that, where an author might be, ‘Privately printed for subscribers’, and then in the upper corner, the number 156/475.

He flipped to a random page almost halfway through, and when he read the first line, his eyes widened slightly. 

_I was in wonderful condition. Early to bed, out-of-door exercise, good plain living, everything to make me so. I felt as if I could fuck all day. If one day I had neither of the women, the next day my prick stood from morning till I got to sleep at night._

He found himself strangely engrossed in the tales of deviancy, turning pages even without meaning to, wanting to learn what happened with Walter – as he discovered the protagonist’s name was. It was lurid, and rather crude, and very interesting. There were things written about he hadn’t thought people would put to paper – including tales of pretty men bedded alongside women. He’d read three full chapters when heard a noise in the doorway, and he looked up and met eyes with the elder Way, who was stood there, watching him in turn. 

“I see you’ve found one of our more interesting books,” Gerard said. He didn’t look mad, just curious.

Frank hurried to close the book, as if that would hide the fact he’d been reading it even if Gerard had caught him in the act. “I just saw it, and I was curious,” he admitted quietly.

“Walter was quite the perverted man,” Gerard said, flashing slightly pointed teeth in his grin. “Rumour has Henry Ashbee was behind it. I wouldn’t put it past that old man. He’s an amazing character.”

Frank was scarlet now, and he shoved the closed book to the side, guiltily, and stood up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have read that. It wasn’t mine. And it looked private.”

“It’s alright, Frank. It was just lying around.” He shrugged easily. “Besides, there’s almost five hundred prints out there now. I very much doubt you can consider that private.”

“It was shocking to read,” Frank admitted quietly. He didn’t add that it was also strangely interesting. “I have heard worse come from the mouths of others, but to see it so frankly written is different.” He had mostly heard it when he’d wandered into the districts of Covent Garden, where woman would congregate with their skirts tucked up, soliciting the men who walked by for gin or rent money. Even on the ships, the banter was often bawdy jokes, but never as explicit.

“You may be surprised. There's quite the roaring trade abroad of scandalous books - Lazenby, Smithers, and Nichols all publish interesting ones. My father started a collection long ago. He has some of the stranger ones locked away, but I think they quite amused him, and it was always funny when the maids discovered them during cleaning.”

“There’s a _collection_ of these?”

“That one is one of the most graphic, for sure. But yes, there are a few. You are most welcome to explore, if it catches your fancy.” 

Gerard’s easy way of talking was not helping Frank’s acute embarrassment, and he wondered briefly if there might be a hidden staircase behind one of the shelves he could disappear into and never emerge from. Perhaps he could find a cave to live in? He wasn’t quite sure he was the hermit type, but it never hurt to try.

His reverie was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder, and Gerard saying, “Are you alright? You’ve gone quite pale.”

He jumped slightly, having not heard any footsteps, and yet suddenly Gerard was right there in front of him. “I’m fine! I think I should go, now,” he said weakly.

He turned to leave, and he was halfway to the door when Gerard called after him. “Are those your ball clothes?”

Frank turned once, to nod, and pulled ineffectually at the cuffs of the borrowed coat, which still felt overly constrictive.

Gerard’s gaze swept him up and down briefly. “You play the gentleman well, but I prefer how you were before.”

Frank fled the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The agapemonites were my favourite curiosity. A Christian religious sect/cult of free love that was established by Reverend Henry Prince in 1846, it drew a lot of attention for his marriages (note, multiple) to wealthy, particularly young, female socialites and their public sex ceremonies. It was said he would divide his congregation into sinners and the righteous on whether they were wealthy enough.
> 
> My Secret Life was a "memoir" published anonymously over 7 years starting in 1888 (which means it still being published during this story), which is highly obscene and hilarious. There's a lot of slightly, uh, interesting tales in it, including frank homosexual encounters, foursomes, and lots of urolagnia/coprophilia. I read it when I was younger, and I've never been the same since. And it was rumoured quite a lot Henry Ashbee was behind it, as he was known as one of the biggest collectors of erotica in England, but it has never been proven.
> 
> The Victorians were quite glorious in their perversions. Never let people tell you they were shrinking violets.


	7. Dahlia

By time evening came around, Frank was slightly jittery with nerves he wouldn’t let himself linger on. After the events in the library, he’d briefly considered not going at all, but then he felt sick and guilty at the idea, so he’d forced himself to take a few calming breaths and wait in the foyer at the top of the stairs which looked down on the main entrance hall.

It wasn’t quite the season yet, and Parliament was still closed, so many people had not retired to their town houses in London. This is turn meant there were far more guests than he had expected, all dressed in fine clothes, laughing and chatting. Their carriages lined up, looking much like a scene out of a fairytale. He wasn’t surprised the Ways had attracted quite so many guests, considering the power their family had held in the past despite their interesting reputation.

He watched carefully as a few of the first guests arrived, and were taken into one of the grand reception rooms to congregate and be greeted by Lord Way. There were footmen taking overcoats and holding doors for guests, dressed in uniform he recognised as the ones Tilly had given him before, scarlet red with the Way crest prominent on their chests, and it made him even more uneasy in his own clothes. He’d much rather be dressed like that, he thought, but he had made a promise.

Once most of the guests had already arrived, he skirted around the main entrance and followed one of the servants down a side corridor, which led to one of the back entrances. He felt less conspicuous that way, and he knew there was a formal hierarchy for those who got to enter the ballroom first.

The music was already in full swing when he walked into the room, and he paused for a moment, awe-struck, to look at the decadence on display. Even for a family which he knew was particularly wealthy and held old power, it was quite striking for somebody who had never seen it before. There were ribbons strung from the ceiling, and bunches of roses, hyacinths and tulips dripped from the rafters in carefully arranged waterfalls. That was nothing compared to the glittering fashion on display by the guests already there, the women draped in their finery, silken, powdered and gathered like an expanse of colourful butterflies. Even the men’s wrists and fingers flashed with jewels he couldn’t put a name to.

He was probably gaping unbecomingly, so he forced himself to edge carefully around the dancing couples and head for an area he knew well – the refreshment room. There, tables strained under a feast that had been laid out by the kitchen staff – sweet biscuits, plum pudding, crackers, bonbons, cold meat, sandwiches, trifles, jellies and tipsy cake, amongst things he did not even recognise himself.

“I find that the tipsy cake is exactly what I need to handle these gatherings,” the familiar voice said from behind him once again, and he turned around, not even slightly surprised this time. Gerard was particularly good at sneaking up on people – although he wondered if he was the only person who was subjected to it on quite such a regular basis.

He was, once more, dressed in all black, except for a scarlet waistcoat, and although Frank felt like this was quite a departure from acceptable fashion, he wore it with confidence. Alongside his overly formal morning coat, and the intricate knot of his neck-tie, he looked every inch the lord he was meant to be. Except, there was his impressively dishevelled hair, and his familiar lopsided smile.

“I am glad you did not forsake me in these troubled times, my friend,” he continued warmly, taking a few steps forward. 

“I would never live it down, and I feel you would make that your quest.”

“Well, if I had to marry some aristocrat's daughter because you were not there to protect me, I would spend my fortune on reminding you.”

“That is only fair.” Frank grinned, suddenly more comfortable in a situation he didn’t belong to with Gerard there to soothe him.

“I’ve already had to fend them off with candlesticks,” Gerard said. “I fear that without Alicia’s intervention, I would have been married twice over by this point. I have been mistaken for a Byronic hero, and it is mildly alarming.”

“You are quite against the joys of matrimony? Haven't changed your mind yet?”

Gerard walked up to stand next to him, and collected two of the fine crystal glasses that had been laid out, spooning some of the punch into both and offering one to Frank. “If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot at me, and he that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder and called Adam.”

“Are you quite done showing off?” Frank asked, taking the glass gratefully. At least then he had something in his hands to fidget with. “I feel it is not proper to quote Shakespeare to somebody from such a lowly background as me. I have only just recalled how to write my own name.”

Gerard laughed, suddenly and too-loud, and drew a sideways glance from a nearby guest. “It’s a fine name. You share it with my favourite saint, Francis of Assisi. Patron saint of animals, the world, merchants and stowaways. All very exciting.”

“At least he was, unlike me,” Frank noted. 

It was at that moment that Gerard’s gaze shifted, and then he was motioning somebody to come join them eagerly. Frank automatically shrank back from the idea of social interaction, but Gerard, whether he noticed or not, had a hand firmly on Frank’s arm, so he could not truly escape anyway.

The person Gerard was gesturing rather manically at turned out, in fact, to be two people. One was taller than Gerard, which made Frank feel particularly short with both of them stood nearby. The stranger had his curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, but everytime he shifted, it appeared to revolt against the hair tie, as if he’d accidentally tied a live animal to his head instead. It was weirdly fascinating.

The second man was broadly build, although he looked somehow still quite like a gentleman despite this and his close cropped, military-grade hair cut. Instead of a morning coat, he was wearing a double-breasted great coat with a wide collar, and intricate silver detailing around the buttons. Frank recognised it as something officers in the army often wore outside of military duty.

“Ray, Bob, it has been far too long since I’ve seen your pretty faces,” Gerard said happily, social conventions apparently completely discarded at this point because he dropped his grip on Frank’s arm for a moment to hug them both before returning his hand where it had been previously. “I must introduce my new friend, Frank. He is perfectly timid, like a mouse.”

“You are mistaken, Gerard, I am much more a poisonous flower than a mouse.”

“Of course, my mistake. Well, Frank the poisonous flower, these are two of my unfortunate friends. Lord Raymond Toro, Baron Blackwood, and his reprobate companion, Major Robert Bryar.”

The man in the military uniform shook his head at the introduction. “Bob, if you must, I don’t particularly enjoy anything else.”

“You don’t enjoy anything,” Lord Toro muttered, although Frank had a feeling he was not meant to hear that part.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Frank said politely, offering his hand to both of them. They shook it with warm, friendly smiles.

“How have you both been?” Gerard asked, once the formalities were out of the way.

“Miserable,” Bob offered despite his easy-going smile. “The Cardwell reforms were bad enough. Now Hugh Childers is simply making my life harder. They know nothing of war, they are only inflated bureaucrats.”

Toro made a soft sigh in the back of his throat, and pushed Bob’s arm slightly. “Despite this misery being my close friend, I am quite content. I suspect my father has already notified you and the surrounding twenty hundred miles of the good news from last week?” He had a tanned, friendly face, with a smile which appeared to reach from ear-to-ear when he was sharing this news.

“Indeed!” Gerard said, immediately brightening. “I must extend my congratulations to both you and your beautiful new fiancée. She is obviously quite insane, but that’s perfectly fine. There’s somebody out there for everybody.”

“You were always the hopeless romantic,” Toro said flatly. “I am surprised you have not been swept off your feet yet.”

Bob laughed, low in his throat, as if sharing an inside joke. “I believe many have tried, and many have failed, much to their folly.”

Gerard glared slightly. “I am the perfect gentleman, I’ll have you know.”

Bob nodded, strangely solemn, although it was apparently only an act judging from the teasing tone of his voice. “Aye, one who does not leave the house, or even his room if not called upon four times. I’m surprised you’re still alive sometimes.”

Frank stayed awkwardly silent during their conversation, not quite sure if he was even meant to speak up, and Gerard, apparently noticing how uncomfortable he was, squeezed his arm gently then excused them both after a moment’s more to undertake his ‘lordly duties’. Toro scoffed at this, as if he couldn’t quite believe Gerard could ever fulfil such claims, and Frank decided he quite liked the man, even with his terrifying beast hair.

Gerard took them to the side of the room, where they sipped from their punch and watched a few people who were dancing in the ballroom. Frank felt strangely contrite that Gerard was not out there dancing and having fun, despite the fact he’d shown no inclination of wanting to.

“I must say, this party is beyond stunning,” Frank offered tentatively. “If you wish to dance, you are welcome to.”

“It’s quite something,” agreed Gerard, with a small twitch of his mouth. He didn’t acknowledge Frank’s offer, though. “I only take two thirds of the credit. After all, people are here to see me.”

As if this was the cue, Lady Way appeared at their side. She looked radiant, dressed in a flowing cream dress, her dark hair drawn back into an intricate knot at the base of her neck, and a single red rose attached behind her ear. “Gerard, I must say, you have been very slippery this evening,” she said calmly, but her raised eyebrows told a different tale. “You must come with me.” She turned then, and disappeared back into the throngs of people.

“Duty calls,” Gerard said, quite forlornly, and Frank took that as his dismissal until Gerard put a hand on his arm and gently steered him out of the refreshment room and into the main hall. He almost protested, but he was much too scared to do so.

Lady Way was talking quietly with an older man, who was dressed even more formally than the other people Frank had seen, in an old-fashioned frock coat, a cane carefully balanced over one folded arm. He looked particularly regal, but Frank felt Gerard’s hand tense on his arm for a brief moment.

As they came up, Frank could hear the man speaking, slowly and with the gravity of somebody who was used to be listened to on all matters. “I have to say, the Maudsley has the right idea. The blood is degenerating. It’s scandalous what is considered good taste these days. And the women –” 

“Lord Portland,” Lady Way said, turning slightly when she caught Gerard’s eye. She looked relieved at the chance of an interruption.“I believe you’re already acquainted with my brother-in-law, Gerard, Lord Way.”

Lord Portland looked insulted at being cut off, but said nothing. Frank decided he liked Lady Way even more after that. “I have had the pleasure,” Lord Portland said, offering one hand for a stiff handshake. Gerard did it so smoothly, with the practice of a thousand previous handshakes. The man’s eyes slid to Frank, who was trying to shrink back behind Gerard, with little success. “But I do not recognise this young gentleman.”

“This is one of my close friends, Lord Iero,” Gerard said, without a pause. “Frank, this is the Earl of Portland.”

“My pleasure,” the man said, with a barely inclined head and the offered hand once more. Frank gritted his teeth at Gerard’s answer, but took the offered hand, too scared to appear impolite, and murmured a greeting. 

He took a step back from the conversation, and when Lord Portland excused himself a moment later, he tugged on Gerard’s arm and hissed, “Can we speak in private?”

Gerard looked bemused, but nodded and excused himself, and they walked out into one of the empty servant corridors to the side. 

As soon as they were alone, Frank rounded on him. “What was that?”

Gerard still looked puzzled, a small frown in place between his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“You just introduced me with a fake title! I’m not lord, and you know it.” Frank’s anger was only bubbling up more now at the sheer humiliation of it all. Was he not good enough without a title attached? He’d thought that the Way family was different in that sense, particularly Gerard, with his easy charm and humour, but now he could feel the familiar scarlet embarrassment of his low birth rearing its ugly head once more.

“I didn’t – you know I don’t think that,” Gerard protested weakly, looking hurt. “Portland is an Earl, Frank. He wouldn’t think twice of insulting you if he thought you were any less than gentry.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, you were to be an Earl at birth, but you passed that onto your brother, did you not?” Frank shook his head, not mollified by Gerard’s words in the slightest. It just felt insulting, to have to pretend he was something he was not, and could never be. He didn’t quite know why he’d been so insulted at first, but he realised quickly, it was not because he was not a lord. He was quite happy with his station in life, despite the fact that he was neither part of the peerage nor wealthy. 

It was, rather, because he realised that Gerard did not see them as equals, and with his unwelcome feelings, it was all the more an acidic truth to swallow. Deep down, despite his normal logical thinking, he’d nurtured fantastical ideas, and now they were all crashing down around him with a simple choice of words.

“I never took the title,” Gerard said sharply, drawing himself up at Frank’s hot words. “And my brother rarely uses it. Portland is an entirely different breed. I was trying to protect you.”

“I believe the answer is I do not need your protection, but I appreciate the sympathy you lend me, my lord. If you would excuse me, I feel like I must retire early. I have come down with something that makes me feel quite _low._ ” He spat out the last word as viciously as he could, and then he turned and left, his blood still fizzing and his eyes wet.

**

He did not escape to his room, fearing it would be easy to follow him there and wanting no more confrontation. Instead, he slipped into the servant passageways more deeply, and followed a winding path through until he found a latch door which led to the orchard outside. 

Stepping outside into the cool air helped immensely, especially against the hot flush of his cheeks, and he stood there for two moments, taking deep breaths of the crisp air and letting it settle his nerves as much as it could. Then he turned, and followed the path which led through the orchard, into the deep groves, where he knew he would find a secluded spot with a bench where he could sit and think for a moment.

He was so caught up in himself, that he did not realise that the area he’d sought out was already occupied, and it was only when he heard the giggling that his eyes snapped upwards and saw the two ladies sat on the bench, hands and bodies entwined.

“I – I am most sorry,” he said, quickly averting his eyes from the scene, but not before he could tell it was not platonic in the slightest. There had definitely been locked lips, which was something he could now not unsee despite his attempts to focus entirely on his polished shoes.

There was a peel of laughter, and then an unknown voice said, “Please excuse us. We were, uh.” There was a moment of hesitation. “Practising a play?”

“Quite,” Frank said, still staring firmly at his feet. “I understand the best place to do so is late at night in seclusion.”

There was a cheerful giggle then, which sounded strangely familiar, and then it was followed by an even more familiar voice saying,“Please ignore my friend, Frank, she doesn’t know you very well.”

His mouth dropped open at the voice. _“Tilly?”_ he said, incredulously, and he couldn’t help but glance upwards. The two women were definitely more composed now, but they were still sat with their sides pressed together, and one was most definitely Tilly, something he had entirely missed in his earlier embarrassment. She was wearing a fine dress, and her wild red hair had been pinned back, but there was no mistaking her broad grin and wide, dancing eyes.

“I suppose I should explain, but I’m sure you can get the idea of things,” Tilly said brightly. “This is my – close friend, Lindsey. We came out here for a small moment of peace from the commotion in there.”

“Lyn, if you please,” the first woman said. Her voice was soft and gentle, and she looked every bit the lady, dressed elegantly in navy, her dark hair pulled back in the fashionable updo he’d seen being sported in the dance, but she didn’t offer a title. He was glad of that.

“Frank,” he offered. “Although you know that.” He scratched awkwardly at his neck, a nervous tic he hadn’t done in quite some time. “I apologise for disturbing your evening. I suppose I should leave.”

“Only once you tell me why you’re a damsel running away from the ball,” Tilly said firmly, patting the wooden bench next to her as an invitation. He only hesitated for a moment, but one of her firm glares was enough to make him sheepishly scoot over and take the seat. “So, do I have to torture it out or you, or?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he said softly. “I just had a moment. I needed to breathe.”

“I think we’ve all been there, Frank. What happened?”

“Nothing – I just – I don’t know how to explain it.” He sighed, and pushed his hand into his hair, and messed up the careful style that Tilly had formed it into previously. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly, but said nothing. He decided then to just say it all in a rush, and hope she’d understand: “Gerard gave me a fake title, and it made me feel like he thought I wasn’t good enough for people to meet, and I didn’t like it.”

Tilly hissed out a breath through her teeth. “Oh, Frankie,” she said, her voice strangely soft. “How long?”

He glanced at her, eyes narrowed. “I have no idea what you may be implying,” he said, even though he did, and it hurt even more that it was so obvious.

Lyn was smiling next to her. She was very traditionally beautiful, with her high cheekbones and her full lips, but she also had very dark eyes, and it made her look quite mischievous, which Frank thought complimented Tilly’s cheerful demeanour whole-heartedly.“Sounds familiar, that. Think I said it myself. Ooh, Tilly, what are you like. You’re the cupid of our age.”

Tilly made a snort, which was hardly ladylike, but then she wasn’t really one, and Frank couldn’t help but half-smile at it. “My reputation proceeds me.” She shrugged one shoulder, and settled her hand in Lyn’s, and then said, “Frank, you need to talk to him if he’s upset you. Running away is for children, and I know you’re better than that.”

“Thank you for your advice,” he said sourly, even though he knew she was right.

“You’re welcome,” she chirruped happily. “Love is a wondrous thing, you know.”

“Beautiful,” agreed Lyn, beaming at Tilly. “Most splendid.”

“And now I must return this _wayward guest_ to the party before anybody gets any ideas of where she has been. I wouldn’t like to smear the household’s reputation like that, you know how boys can be.” Tilly stood up, and turned slightly to look down at Frank, pulling Lyn to her feet as well. Her expression was soft, but there was still a glint there that told him she wasn't joking. “If I can get over Lyn being Lord Queensbury’s daughter, I am sure you can get over your own insecurities about your true love.”

“That is not fair –” he tried, but she was already leaving, hand-in-hand with Lyn.

It was only after she’d left that he stopped, and frowned, and went, “Lord Queensbury’s _daughter?_ ”

**

Frank sat there for a long time, head in his hands, deep in the solitude of the moment. He tried not to think. 

(Although he did allow himself a few minutes to puzzle over the fact he had just discovered his best friend in _flagrante delicto_ with a very noble woman. Then he decided that they were happy, and thus he was happy in turn for them. Even if he was bitterly jealous.)

It was only when it began to rain that he forced himself to his feet, and took the path back to the house with extra quick strides.

Once inside, he ducked through the back corridors as he had come accustomed to in order to avoid people, and made his way as quickly as possible to his room in the far east wing. The manor was deathly quiet everywhere but the main ballroom, and he was rather thankful for it.

He discarded the extra formal clothes with angry jerks of his wrist, and threw them on the desk chair. They still felt completely alien, and he was glad to shed them. 

Then, slipping into his bed, he closed his eyes, and resolutely tried to think of everything but what he wanted to.

**

His dreams were fragmented and angry. There was a dark storm on the horizon, and he could only catch glimpses of familiar faces. Lord Portland was there one moment, dancing comically around him, distorted like a bird of prey, a long, sharp beak and talons ready to rip him asunder.

“My _pleasure,_ ” Portland echoed, his voice a sharp judgement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I fear that without Alicia’s intervention, I would have been married twice over by this point. I have been mistaken for a Byronic hero, and it is mildly alarming.”_ \- Byronic hero was named after Lord Byron (1788 – 1824), whose heroes were known to be brooding, anti-social and dark and yet very much alluring. I think Gerard is thinking too much of himself here.
> 
>  _“If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot at me, and he that hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder and called Adam.”_ \- Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing says this about changing his mind on love. Always made me smile and I hate Shakespeare.
> 
>  _“The Cardwell reforms were bad enough. Now Hugh Childers is simply making my life harder. They know nothing of war, they are only inflated bureaucrats.”_ \- Cardwell reforms were reforms of the British Army done by Edward Cardwell between 1868 and 1874. They weren't popular with military men, but they had some good ideas. Hugh Childers started some more in 1881, which were equally unpopular especially with the Boer War in 1880 and the Urabi Revolt in 1882.
> 
>  _“I have to say, the Maudsley has the right idea. The blood is degenerating. It’s scandalous what is considered good taste these days. And the women –”_ \- OoOh dear Portland. Maudsley is referring to Henry Maudsley (1835 – 1918), an alienist (Victorian mad doctor) who was known for his misogynistic ideas of women (they couldn't be educated, as they didn't have enough energy) and his ideas that the human race was degenerating. Actually, a lot of people thought that. It was quite terrifying, and led to the eugenics movement.


	8. Edelweiss

He slept badly, and when he woke properly in the morning, his eyes were heavy with fatigue. Still, he knew that duty called, and that he must pretend he was perfectly fine. He dressed in his normal simple clothes, then picked up the formal clothes he had discarded so angrily before and made sure to neatly fold them and leave them on the bed for Tilly to – hopefully – retrieve during her morning rounds. Even if they had only brought him misery, she had done her best to help him out, and he respected that.

He made his way to the children’s rooms, and they were waiting in the main room, eyes bright as ever. Elsie could barely contain her glee as she bounced over, throwing her arms around his waist, which caught him quite by surprise. She was never one to show particular affection towards him, except on rare occasions when her guard dropped.

“You _must_ tell us about the party,” she said with incredible seriousness, in a tone that only a young child could affect. “I’ve been desperately waiting for you.”

“It was not particularly exciting, Miss Elsie. There is a lot of dancing, and pretending to know people’s names, and eating food. You will have to bring the entertainment yourself when you come out,” he said lightly, ignoring his twisted stomach.

She cocked her head to the side slightly, then nodded solemnly. “I will provide a unicorn of unrivalled purity, for I will need a steed on which to enter the ballroom.”

“Excellent,” he said with a small laugh. “I support every endeavour you undertake to capture yourself a unicorn.”

“I told you the ball would be boring,” Arthur said quietly, barely glancing up from the drawing he was doing. “They’re always the same, and there’s always loud ladies who pinch my cheeks and ask me when I grew to such a height.”

“I wish I got that,” Frank mumbled slightly, then he clapped his hands and said, “Come on, let’s get some work done, and then maybe we can have an afternoon outside?”

This appeared to work, because they didn’t grumble half as much as they usually did, even when he mentioned they would have to do some book work to start off with. As he glanced around the room for their discarded textbooks, his eye was caught by something red lying on the table, and as soon as he had them settled – unhappily – into reading the passage on geography, he wandered over. There was a flower there, of course it was a flower. It was lying on top of a book he hadn’t seen yet. He looked at it for a moment. _The Happy Prince and Other Tales_ announced the title. It looked rather innocuous. 

He turned and went to his wards to see if they were still paying attention to the work he had set.

“I’m bored of geography,” Elsie said, vehemently, looking up at him with a crumpled brow. 

Frank shook his head gently. “There are many things in life which are quite tedious.”

“Tell us a story?” 

“If you read the rest of the passage, and you can recite it to me, I shall read you a story when we go outside.”

Later, when he took the children outside for their promised play, he made sure to sequester himself in a shady nook where there was a bench he could sit on. He could watch them closely, but it was hard to see him from any other angle. It wasn’t that he was hiding, per se, but he was certainly avoiding confrontation. The children laughed and shrieked with joy as they raced around the lawns, playing games with convoluted rules that Frank knew he had no hope of understanding, and he watched them with a small smile. 

Eventually, they had exhausted themselves to the point where they no longer wanted to chase each other in circles, and both came over to him. 

Elsie threw herself at his feet. “Will you read us the story now?”

“I don’t have a story to read,” Frank said. “Arthur, will you fetch me something from the library?”

Arthur brightened immediately at the idea of picking out a book, as Frank knew he would, and he was off without any other prompting. Frank picked Elsie up, and sat her on the bench next to him so she wasn’t rolling around in the dirt any more (he’d been given looks from Tilly when they’d come in before muddy and overexcited.)

Arthur returned a few minutes later, book under his arm, and handed it to Frank. 

Frank frowned at it for a moment. It was the book from the table before, _The Happy Prince and Other Tales_. It was only then he noticed the author: _Oscar Wilde_. “Where did you get this?”

There was a small shrug, then, “Uncle gave it to us last year. It is one of our favourites. I thought it had been lost but I found it on the table.”

“Oh.” He paused for a second, wondering if Gerard had left it for them, then shook himself. “Which one would you like to hear?”

“The nightingale one,” Elsie gushed, her eyes wide and bright. “Mama says it’s a sad story, but uncle said it’s his favourite.”

Arthur nodded, apparently agreeing with her choice, and sat down on the floor nearby. He tucked his legs neatly underneath himself, and peered up at Frank, waiting.

Frank flipped through the book until he came to a story titled _The Nightingale and the Rose_ and then he began to read. 

**

_"Be happy," cried the nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense."_

_The student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books._

 _But the oak tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.  
"Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel very lonely when you are gone."_

_So the nightingale sang to the oak tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar. When she had finished her song the student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket._

_"She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove—"that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good."_

**

His avoidance of the elder Way multiplied from one day, to two, to a week, and then two weeks, which he was mildly impressed by, until he realised that Gerard was in fact avoiding him in turn, and that was much less impressive. Still, every so often, a flower would be left in one of his regular spots, albeit never with a book like the first time. He did not recognise what flowers they were, except one, a vivid purple Hyacinth laid in front of his bedroom door one morning. It had been his mother’s favourite flower when she had been able to afford them.

This one, he collected, and laid it in the drawer with the yellow flower, which had wilted now, and looked quite like he felt. He started to wonder if it was some kind of war of attrition, perhaps on his sanity, because he couldn’t work out what Gerard was trying to say. Was it his offer of an olive branch, or was he mocking Frank’s delicate constitution? It wasn’t helping his confusion.

Later that day, he wrote his mother a letter, and pressed a few of the petals in the folds of the paper before he sealed it. He spoke of his joy at how well the children’s learning was going, how welcoming the house had been, even now as the holiday season crept up, and how he had never been so content in a job.

He hoped that by writing it down, only the positive would remain behind.

**

He started spending a lot of time of his free time in the kitchen, avoiding Mamie with the stealth of – well, somebody not very stealthy, for she always found him. At first she chased him out, but eventually she would just huff and turn away. Sometimes she even graced him with a smile.

Chantal let him sit with her, and let him occasionally throw some dried fruits into a mixture, or help roll out a dough into some fantastical shape she’d come up with. It was interesting to watch her work, because he’d never seen somebody with such enthusiasm about food before. She had a passion which led to her spilling and dropping everything in her eagerness and tripping over her own words when she explained something to him.

Lottie would often keep up her flirtations until Mamie swatted at her ineffectually with her rag, not actually trying to hit her, and demand she get back to work. 

Once, on his day off, he headed down to the kitchens and he was surprised to see that Lady Way was there, talking quietly with Mamie and Tilly. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment too long, and then she looked up and motioned him in. “Frank, I haven’t seen you much around. I was afraid you’d been hiding.”

“I’ve seen far too much of him,” Mamie muttered. She never put much venom into these days, as if it was energy she wasn’t willing to expend. “Disrupting all my staff with his pretty face.”

“He’s quite adept at that,” Tilly agreed. “I don’t quite understand the attraction.”

“I didn’t come here to get bullied,” Frank said sourly, looking between the three of them. 

Lady Way was wearing men’s riding breeches, he noticed after a moment, and her long hair was swept back off her face into a tight knot. She looked different without all the finery, but it wasn’t a bad thing. She looked younger, and less tired. She seemed to notice his gaze, because she smiled. “Do you enjoy riding, Frank?”

“I never learned, I can’t say I had much need for it. I can get into a saddle, and that’s about the extent of my, er, skills.”

“You should join us one day. I am teaching Gilly to ride. One more cannot hurt.”

He’s taken aback at the offer, not the least because horses were insanely expensive, and he’d never been even near one of the pure-bred ones kept by grand estates before. 

Before he could reply, there was a yell, and then a tiny flour monster threw themselves at him, and it took him a few seconds to realise it was in fact Elsie, but her fine clothes were now covered head to toe in flour and she’d managed to get what looked like currant jam on her cheeks. 

“I was helping make dinner!” she said happily, as he looked wide-eyed down at her.

“Are you sure dinner was not making you, lady?” he asked teasingly, petting her hair, which appeared to be the only non-food-covered body part left.

Lady Way sighed, and gathered up her sticky, flour-covered daughter in her arms. “I suppose I should get this one into some new clothes. Frank, you’ll consider my offer? We meet in the mornings. On your day off, perhaps?”

“Yes, Lady—” There was a sharp look from her, and he finished weakly, “Alicia?”

**

He decided that he would at least go down and maybe see the horses, even if he was a little bit terrified of the prospect of actually trying to get on one and control it. How did people even do that? They easily weighed six—maybe seven times his weight, and he didn’t make a habit of picking fights with odds like that.

He headed down on the morning of his next day off. Alicia was in the stables, once more dressed in men’s clothes. The grooms there didn’t seem to pay this any mind, as if this was a normal occurrence. It probably was, considering the fact there was no high-society around to gossip about it.

She smiled warmly as he walked up. “Frank! I’d like you to meet Azalea.” She placed a hand on his arm and guided him over to one of the stalls. A curious brown eye peered through the bars into his own.

“Azalea?” he questioned, as she deftly manipulated his hand so it was lying flat, and placed a handful of oats on it. He wasn’t even sure how she managed to do it so smoothly – he hadn’t even seen her grab the oats. He blinked at his hand, a little bit taken aback.

“We mostly call her Lea,” she said, laughing gently. “Gerard named her, of course. He tried Alstroemeria at first before I told him he was ridiculous. She’s his favourite. Go on, feed her. She’s absolutely docile. The nicest girl you could ask for.”

Frank hesitated for a moment, then offered his hand through the bars, keeping it as flat as she’d made it. Lea peered at him for a moment more, then there was a snort of hot air, and then feeling of something warm, velvety and dry pressed into his palm for a second, and then the ticklish sensation of her teeth and tongue as she devoured the oats.

“She likes you.”

“I hope so. I have kind of got my hand in her mouth right now.”

“Trust me, she’s harmless. The best of the best, this lady. She’s been with us for seven years now.”

Frank blinked a few more times at Lea, who returned the gesture. Then, slowly, he pulled his hand away from her mouth, and touched a finger to her cheek. She didn’t react, so he stroked her once, then pulled his hand sharply back.

“Lea only bites people who try and clean her frog,” Alicia offered. “How brave are you feeling?”

“Frog? Brave?” He was more than a little confused.

“It’s on the underside of their feet,” she explained gently. “You have to clean it of rocks, otherwise it can hurt them. And yes, brave. Lea needs to be taken out. I’ve got my own baby to take care of.” He swallowed once, and she seemed to notice his trepidation. “You can lead her on a long rein. I’m not that cruel.”

“Uh – yes – I suppose I could try.”

Alicia grinned brilliantly at him. 

**

He realised he’d walked straight into her trap when they were picking their way carefully through the grass, and there was nobody else around, and she turned to him and went, “So, I’ve noticed that you and my brother are at odds right now.”

He looked away. Lea knocked his side slightly, and he gave her ear a slight scratch. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Alicia sighed. She had declined to ride her own horse, a broadly-built, slightly terrifying red one called Lillian who snapped at Frank if he got too close, and she was just leading her on a rein as well. “Elsie has been particularly sad that her uncle has not visited her in her classes in a while,” she said gently. His heart sank slightly at the thought of the young girl’s sadness. It hadn’t really occurred to him that they would be upset. _Of course_ they would. “I recognise things may not be very easy, but you should know, he is a genuine man. Clueless, absolutely. He’s a little more than strange. But that’s one of my favourite things about him.”

Frank ignored his gut feeling, which was to run away, and said, “I know I was angry at an idea, not at him. But it’s hard to separate the two things. I feel entirely like we aren’t on equal footing.”

“You’re not, and never will be. Some people were born into privilege. It does not make them any better than other people.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Oh, I am. You think I was born into this role?”

Frank frowned, and he shot a look at Alicia, who returned it evenly. “You… weren't?”

There was a moment where she just grinned. “I was the daughter of a shop owner in London. It was absolutely tiny and we mostly sold old furniture and curiosities. Then this man came in one day, wet from the rain, dripping all over my carpets, and he knocked over one of the new vases I’d put out. I didn’t quite realise I was in the presence of Lord Way’s son until I’d insulted him and told him to get out of my shop.”

“And –?”

“We were married a month later.” She half-shrugged, but her smile gave away her happiness. “I think he was more surprised I said yes than anything. It’s been eleven years. I was seventeen then.”

“You found it easy?”

“Oh, never. I married the younger son, expecting to be regaled to a background role, and then I found myself out of my depth entirely. I spent a few years trying to be the perfect lady before I realised it made me miserable. Gilly was my old governess, and she’s been my greatest supporter through it all.”

“You’ve put together a beautiful home,” he said, sincerely, and that won him one of her beautiful smiles. “Dare I ask, how did Tilly become one of your housemaids?”

“I wouldn’t have been able to without the people around me. As for Tilly, well – I offered her the role of a lady’s companion, and she told me she’d rather throw herself on hot coals, which I think is a reasonable reaction.” She paused, and then turned to him fully, bringing Lillian to a stop as well. The demon horse snorted and threw back her head, but didn't go for Alicia's face like he expected. “I am not saying that everything is easy, or fine. But I do feel like you should know that titles mean very little when it comes down to it. When we reach Heaven, we will be judged on our actions and how we treat each other rather than our station in life. A poor man who treats everybody the same is far more moral than a rich man who turns his back on the needy.”

He nodded, slowly, and then she said, “Come on, there’s an amazing meadow of wildflowers over here. You’ll love it.”

She tugged Lillian’s reins again, and set off in a jog. 

Lea mouthed at his shirt as he tried to do the same, until he petted her nose and she gave in. He hurried to keep up with Alicia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own The Nightingale and The Rose, but it is one of the prettiest and saddest stories I read when I was younger without even knowing it was Oscar Wilde. You can read the whole thing here, I highly recommend it: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Happy_Prince_and_Other_Tales/The_Nightingale_and_the_Rose
> 
> There may be a reason that I chose it. It's one of those tales that sticks with you. 
> 
> I don't think there's any other history notes for this chapter - shockingly. I will go back to my books.


	9. Caladium

Tilly was the one who snapped in the end, apparently tired of Frank’s bitter moping. She caught him in the corridor, with a hand on his arm, and gave him one of her famous stares. He managed to meet her eyes for only a moment before he looked away.

“Yes?” he said, lightly. It wasn’t that he was angry anymore, but he was terrified, and that was enough that he hadn’t made any moves.

“You need to talk, or I’ll make you talk,” she said gently, but she also stood firm in front of him. “I have my ways!”

“I don’t quite believe that, but I wish you well,” Frank said. He tried to slide past her, but she stepped in the way. “Excuse me, but I have lessons to attend to.”

This time he managed to slide past her. She made an angry noise behind him, but he daren’t look back.

**

A day later, and Lindsey, Lady Queensbury, and her father, Lord Queensbury, appeared in a grand carriage, pulled by four silver horses, and attended by four eager, purple-suited footmen, who presented them to the bemused Lord and Lady Way with practised ease and wide, sweeping bows. Frank was quite taken aback that Lindsey’s father had a list of titles which was longer than any other he’d heard of.

Frank watched from the upper railings of the stairs, and his heart clenched slightly, because even though he’d met Lindsey – Lyn – in the darkness of the woods, where he’d discovered her secret, he was still certain this was not just a social call.

She all but confirmed this when she glanced upwards, met his eyes, and smiled slyly.

“I apologise for not warning you of my visit. Something has come up, quite unexpectedly, and I must speak urgently with your lord brother,” she said, loud enough for him to hear, as she turned her attention back the Ways.

He turned and stalked away, ignoring the biting feeling in his stomach.

**

He found himself in the library, an area he had avoided in order to avoid in turn its sole most common occupant. He was feeling reckless and anxious today, and he felt he needed the calmness of the room in order to settle his own nerves, and he rationalised he could just duck out if the elder Way appeared.

Unfortunately, as he was apt to do, Gerard caught him quite by surprise.

He had his head buried in a book, and then the familiar voice broke the silence. “I would have you would be more of an astronomy man.”

Frank glanced up, startled, and then back down at the book he’d picked out. It was old and dusty, obviously neglected, on previous astrological predictions, none of which, he’d discovered, had come true so far. “I find it interesting,” he said softly. “I apologise for invading your space. I shall find somewhere else to read.”

He got to his feet, but Gerard threw out a hand and said, “Wait.”

He hesitated, for just a moment, and that was enough.

“You know that somebody travelled to see me today?” Gerard began, carefully, and Frank felt that familiar spike of jealousy as he nodded, wishing he had the willpower to turn his head and walk past.

“It was all rather strange,” he continued, his eyes focused slightly over Frank’s shoulder. Gerard had a peculiar look in his eyes, but that wasn’t something Frank was unfamiliar with. He had always had something strange, hypnotic, almost fervent about him. It made Frank feel uneasy and vulnerable at the same time. “Lindsey demanded an audience with me to discuss something very important, and I was rather scared it was going to be an unexpected marriage proposal until she explained her real reason for a visit. She said, and I quote, I should apologise, grovel, and perhaps get on my knees and beg forgiveness from a young man named Frank?” He looked directly at Frank now, eyebrow slightly raised. “You wouldn’t know how she came to that conclusion?”

“I would not, I’m afraid,” he said tightly.

“Strange,” he mused. He bore Frank’s glare without flinching. “I’m afraid I would have to agree with her.”

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know – I realise you had every right to be angry at me, and I’m sorry for only making it worse.” 

He looked earnest, but Frank didn’t like the uncertainty in his words and his tone. He frowned for a moment, then said, “Perhaps you ought to ponder it for a while. How is Lindsey keeping?”

“She’s – perfectly fine. A lovely lady. It’s a pity.”

This caught Frank’s attention. “A pity?”

“Well, yes. I feel like she would have made an excellent wife if the circumstances were different.” Gerard sighed and rolled his shoulders, as if this was something he’d considered many times over now. “It would be unfair on her, though.”

Frank paused, and looked over at Gerard, trying not to betray his confusion. “It would be unfair on her?” he asked, just to make sure he’d heard correctly. He wasn’t sure, but he felt like Gerard was implying that he also knew about the illicit affair going on, and he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Why?”

Now it was Gerard’s turn to look confused. “I thought it was obvious?” 

“Obvious? You’re a strange man, Lord Way.”

Gerard looked pained. “Please don’t call me that. Not between us. I couldn’t stomach if you started that nonsense after everything.” He drew himself up slightly, then said, “Anyway, I thought everybody knew.”

Slightly taken aback, Frank blurted, “How come I was the last to know?”

“Well, you are quite oblivious, I must say. I am surprised.” Gerard shrugged without really giving it much effort, but his hands were tensed.

“I’d never seen them together before!”

There was a pause, then, _“Them?”_

“Tilly and Lyn?” Frank said, and then it dawned on him that they were talking about two very different things when he saw Gerard’s eyebrows shoot upwards. There was no careful teasing in his expression now, only pure surprise.

“I’m sorry? Are you – is that true –”

“Oh my – please – forget I said anything --”

“But – _Tilly?_ ”

“I didn’t say anything!” His voice had taken on a desperate note now as he scrabbled to backtrack, certain he had just ruined one of his best friend’s lives.

Gerard’s confusion seemed to disappear almost as quickly as it appeared, and he broke out into a grin. “If that’s true, I couldn’t be happier for them. They are both wonderful people.”

Frank was entirely taken aback by this reaction, and he wasn’t quite sure he was hearing it right. “Are you not – mad?”

“Why would I be?”

“Um,” Frank said, not quite sure he wanted to say anything now after his last foot-in-mouth moment only two seconds before. “It’s not… against your beliefs or anything?”

Gerard stared at him for a long moment, and then he stopped, frowned, then stared some more. He took a few steps forward, close enough now he could look deep into Frank’s eyes, as if he was searching for something. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Frank offered helpfully.

“Oh. I see. So, you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That I, uh, gave up the earldom for a particular reason. That I’m opposed to tradition quite a lot more than most people. Indeed, I have decreed myself a bachelor forever. I prefer the company of gentlemen, I suppose.” He trailed off at Frank’s confused look, sighed, then said, sharply, “Frank, I like _men._ ”

Frank almost choked on his own spit, then decided dying right then would be particularly unfortunate, and forced himself to swallow and breathe properly once again. He hadn’t managed to formulate a response before Gerard was adding, “In particular, I like a certain boy. He rather pretty, although quite hard to understand.”

“I – uh – ”

“And I do mean you,” Gerard continued, oblivious to the complete mental shutdown that was currently happening in Frank’s brain. “In case you thought otherwise, which you probably did.”

Frank made a noise which was like the awful cross-breed of a laugh and a sob, and Gerard’s brow furrowed slightly and he stepped closer, reaching out a hand for Frank without actually touching him. “You’re not going to faint, are you? Please don’t.”

“Do you think I really am a swooning damsel?” Frank demanded, finally finding his voice again.

“Maybe?”

“Please stop talking.” 

Gerard looked hurt, but his mouth snapped shut. 

Then Frank stepped forward, placed one hand on his shoulder, and the other on his waist, said, “I have never done this before,” and then he stretched up and kissed the other man.

Gerard tasted like exotic coffee and expensive cigarettes which Frank had never tried, only seen people carry in ornate cases, and he relaxed into the kiss after a moment, and then all Frank could think about was how warm and pliable he was under his mouth and hands. He felt Gerard’s hesitant fingers slide across his jaw, and curve around his neck and burrow into the hair there, and he shivered a little at the sensation.

Gerard seemed to take this the wrong way though, because he pulled away, and Frank tried to ignore his immediate urge to push back in. “Is this – are you sure?” Gerard asked, a little short of breath.

Frank nodded vehemently, too busy focusing his eyes on the curve of Gerard’s mouth and his tongue, worried between his teeth, to use words any more. When Gerard didn’t immediately start kissing him again, he grabbed the lapels of his morning coat, and yanked him forward, almost toppling the both of them over onto the stack of books behind him. Then he crushed their mouths back together, and it felt like it was always meant to be this way, just the two of them, in the dark, surrounded by the smell of old books, and the feel of soft lips and the scrape of stubble on his jaw.

Eventually, Gerard pulled away, and briefly pressed his forehead against Frank’s own. “I – you should think about this.”

“I’ve thought enough,” he replied firmly. 

“Wait for the common sense of the morning. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

Frank hesitated, but then said, “Will I see you in tomorrow’s lessons?”

There was a half-smile, and a kiss pressed to his cheek. “You have my word.”

**

Frank knew the exact moment that Gerard appeared in the door of the children’s rooms, because Elsie’s gaze, which had been rapt up until then, slid away from him, and she brightened considerably as she launched herself to her feet.

“Uncle! I’ve missed you so!” 

Gerard was apparently expecting this for once, because he grinned and lifted her up and swung her around. “Miss Elsie, you brighten my day,” he said, as she buried her head in his neck. He pressed a kiss to her wild hair, and smiled at Frank over the top. Frank was watching them with the book still in his lap, and he could almost feel his heart swell.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Arthur said.

“Me too,” Gerard said, as he slid Elsie to the floor. “What are we learning today?”

**

Gerard caught his arm as Frank passed the children over to Tilly. 

Tilly said nothing. She just smiled as she took Arthur and Elsie’s hands, but there was that mischievous glint in her eyes. Frank was not looking forward to her gloating.

When they were alone in the children’s rooms, Gerard said, “Come to my study? I want to talk in private.”

Frank didn’t hesitate, just nodded.

Gerard led him down one of the long hallways, and stopped outside a door which was tucked around a corner, as if hiding from the rest of the manor. Frank thought it was quite apt. Gerard glanced back once at him, as if to make sure he hadn’t disappeared in the five seconds since he’d last looked, and then unlocked the door and stepped aside to let Frank inside.

The inside of Gerard’s study was no less than he’d expected, and that was quite amusing. Everything seemed to be in some form of disarray. There were stacks of papers on the heavyweight desk that looked as if they were a slight breeze away from falling over. Every bit of wood was rich and dark, and shined in the half-light. Even the windows were draped in thick dark curtains.

Frank moved to one of the heavy bookcases that lined the walls of the room, stepping carefully over discarded boots and gloves and even an umbrella. He stopped to admire the collection of works, and ran his fingers gently over the many spines of the books. Most of them were almost old enough that he wondered if they’d fall apart if they were moved too hastily. It was a collection redolent of some grand library, not much unlike the manor's own, but this was more personal. He could see that just from reading the few books in front of him, and they weren’t all old. He recognised some of the authors of the more modern works: Marx, Engels, Nietzche, Kierkegaard, Comte, Bentham.

He turned back to Gerard for a moment, raising his eyebrows slightly. “I did not think you could need more books.”

There was a small laugh. “One day, from so little sleeping and so much reading, my brain shall dry up and I will go completely out of my mind.”

Frank recognised that, but he couldn’t recall where it was from. “Was that Dickens?”

“Not quite. Don Quixote.”

Frank picked one of the books which looked more likely to withstand the movement, and carefully opened it. He realised then that it was a collection of paintings. The first one he saw was of a beautiful nude woman reclining of an opulent couch, wearing only shoes and stockings. Frank quite liked it. He flicked to another random page. Two naked women were lying asleep on a bed entwined in an erotic embrace. One had red-hair, the other dark. He thought briefly of Tilly and Lindsey, and then flushed red at the thought.

Frank turned to look at Gerard, who was leaning against the desk, and watching him carefully. He held up the book. “Do you keep a lot of nude women around?”

“Only on paper.”

Gerard had stripped off the gloves he often wore, and unbuttoned his morning coat. Frank preferred him like that, a little bit more open, a little bit less lordly. He looked a bit faraway, as if distracted by something as he pushed a few strands of his dark hair out of his eyes. 

There was a moment of comfortable silence, and then Gerard said, “Life is strange, don’t you think?”

Frank placed the book back on the shelf, and moved so he was closer now, and he could see Gerard’s eyes properly. “Is it?”

“Indeed. Life is, how does it go? Nasty, brutish and short. Was that Hobbes? I think I would have got on quite well with Hobbes.”

“You're distracted again.”

“I am? What was I doing?”

Frank couldn’t help the smile that came to his face when Gerard took his hand gently. “As brilliant as you are with books and reasoning, you are quite terrible at this romance lark,” Frank said mildly.

“I have never had to try before,” Gerard admitted quietly, absently stroking his thumb across the back of his hand.

“Well. Let’s make this easy. What’s your worst trait? I think I should be informed before I end up over my head.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could narrow it down to just one. Perhaps the fact I am rather a brooder. I enjoy brooding.”

“And?”

“Let me see — what are my other shortcomings? I spend a lot of time in my own head; I much prefer it to anywhere else. I am rather forgetful at times, although I fear that runs in my family. Or does it? I can never really remember. I have had many complaints about being eccentric, but I fear nobody quite knows where my centre is.”

Frank sighed. He wasn’t particularly mad that Gerard didn’t sound very serious, but still – “One day that indecorous tongue of yours will get you in trouble.”

There was a flash of something then, a wicked edge to Gerard’s grin. “I hope so.” 

Gerard’s arms came around him, and at the touch, Frank’s world stopped spinning quite so hard. He smelled of smoke and soap and the fresh, sharp scent of outdoors. Frank relaxed into the embrace, and let him hold him. Gerard’s fingers found the nape of his neck, and touched the skin there.

Frank pressed his nose into his neck for a moment, and then said, “You are mad, but I always thought mad people were the most interesting.”

“Is that your idea of a compliment?”

Frank felt the vibration of his words against his cheek, and stifled a laugh. He was absurdly charmed by the slight affronted tone to his voice. “Oh, no. You also have quite agreeable features. If you had a milder disposition, you might even have friends.”

“You think I look agreeable?”

Frank pulled his head back, as if studying Gerard’s features. There was the slope of his nose, the angle of his jaw, his overly-long lashes. He had such a pretty edge to him. It was almost infuriating. “Perhaps, when it is dusk, and the sun is setting, and if you’re completely silent.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

“I try.” Frank leaned in quickly for a chaste kiss, which still felt slightly strange, at odds with his inner dialogue. He shifted slightly, then said, “You don’t seem scared.”

“I am. This is terrifying – but the course of true love never did run smooth.”

Frank narrowed his eyes playfully. “That’s not Dickens.” 

There was a small huff of laughter in response. “Indeed. That is not Dickens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the end - in sight? DEAR LORD.
> 
> Historical/quote thingamajigs:
> 
>  _“One day, from so little sleeping and so much reading, my brain shall dry up and I will go completely out of my mind.”_ \- Actual quote from Don Quioxte is “Finally, from so little sleeping and so much reading, his brain dried up and he went completely out of his mind”, in Book 1 (c.1605)
> 
>  _"The first one he saw was of a beautiful nude woman reclining of an opulent couch, wearing only shoes and stockings. Frank quite liked it. He flicked to another random page. Two naked women were lying asleep on a bed entwined in an erotic embrace. One had red-hair, the other dark."_ \- The first painting is Femme Nue Couchée (1862), and the second is Le Sommeil (1866) which does in fact depict rather frank lesbianism. Both paintings by Gustave Courbet, who caused quite a stir with his erotic works. He did one of a close-up of female genitals called The Origin of the World, which was banned from exhibition. 
> 
> _"Nasty, brutish and short."_ \- Indeed a quote from Thomas Hobbes' Leviathan (1651)
> 
>  _“I am. This is terrifying – but the course of true love never did run smooth.”_ \- Obvious Shakespeare is obvious. From Midsummer Night’s Dream (Act 1, Scene 1) and it's actually about lovers of two different social standings.
> 
> PS: It's never Dickens.


	10. Finis

The second time he set foot in Gerard's study, it was only one foot, because as soon as he had, Gerard pushed him back against the door, tipped his head up so their faces were level, and leaned in for an open-mouthed kiss. It was soft and tender for a moment, as if he was delighting in his freedom to do so, and then there was the sudden press of urgency in it.

After what felt like an eternity, Gerard leaned back slightly and Frank was almost welcome for the break so he could breathe properly. Gerard was looking at him with an expression he knew quite well. It was affectionate, with a touch of puzzlement. He could understand that confusion, certainly. He was still a touch confused about it all himself.

They stayed like that for a moment, then Gerard brought his fingers up to Frank’s jaw, and said, “We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths, in feelings not in figures on a dial.” He paused. “That's not Dickens either.”

“You’ve been reading poems again,” Frank observed. “Is this what I will be subjected to? Awful poems?”

There was that easy smile. It was oddly charming.“I feel quoting is an adequate replacement for my own wit.”

Frank decided to kiss him again before he started quoting Socrates or something. There was only so much he could handle, and ancient Greek philosophers never had really done it for him. There was a brief moment where it was barely a kiss, until Frank pushed forward, curving himself against Gerard. His hands clutched at Gerard's hair, and he concentrated on the sensation of barely-there stubble against his skin, and Gerard’s mouth, hot and desperate against his own.

“Take me to your room?” he asked softly, once they were forced to break apart lest he start choking, which had never been considered particularly attractive.

Gerard’s eyebrow curved up slightly, and he seemed to hesitate for one moment, before he nodded and said, “Yes, yes.” He was almost tripping over his words, and Frank tried not to laugh too hard at it even though he found it strangely endearing.

“Do we have to be careful?” Frank asked, hesitantly, as Gerard took his hand and led him out of the study.

“Nobody will care.”

They walked quickly, in silence, and Gerard led the way up one of the opulent staircases, down a corridor much wider and more brightly-lit than Frank had seen elsewhere. The walls were draped in tapestries, and portraits, and old skulls of animals long passed. He tried not to focus on them, because they made his stomach twist, but not in the way that Gerard did.

With a quick glance behind him, Gerard stopped in front of one of the overly-large, mahogany doors, slipped a key out of his coat, and unlocked the heavy tumblers. Then he inclined his head, and Frank slipped inside.

Frank almost wanted to run then, partly because he had never seen the inside of a bedroom so positively expensive in every little detail, but also because he realised this was it, this was the inner sanctum, and he was here because Gerard wanted him there.

“I – haven’t really had time to tidy up,” Gerard offered from behind him, pushing the door closed with a click. He heard him shrug off his coat, and heard it drop to the floor. Frank thought it was sweet that he assumed Frank would ever believe he cleaned up. Messy seemed to be his aesthetic. “Please forgive the art, I was working on a few things and I got distracted.”

Frank turned, making a decision without even realising, and then he grinned, and pushed Gerard up against the heavy door. “I don’t care,” he said, stretching up and pressing his lips to Gerard’s jawline, which made Gerard’s breath hitch slightly. 

It also seemed to ruin every other thought Gerard had been having, because the next words he came out with were, “Uh, good – I –”

“You’re terribly good at this,” Frank offered, taking hold of his waistcoat this time, but more gently now. He pulled him with him as he took a few steps backwards. “You’ll have to be my eyes, because I am quite blind right now.”

Gerard nodded dumbly, and steered him around the few discarded, half-finished art pieces on the floor, and then the back of Frank’s knees bumped against the mattress, and he fell, pulling Gerard down with him. Gerard came inelegantly, but rolled slightly so he didn’t crush Frank, which was polite, although Frank did feel like he wouldn’t have quite minded.

“Are you sure about this?” Gerard asked, but it didn’t sound nervous. Frank understood he was pressing the boundaries, gently, and he smiled up at him.

“I am sure about anything. Everything.” He shuffled his hips backwards so he was comfortably on the bed, then pulled Gerard on top of him, and added, “Whatever you want.”

“I want a lot of things.”

“We’ve got a lot of time.”

Gerard seemed to find his confidence then, because he pressed forward, curving his mouth over Frank’s waiting one, his hand skirting back to cup around Frank’s neck. Almost involuntarily, Frank pressed upwards into the kiss, and they pushed their hips together, and Gerard moaned softly into his mouth. 

Frank felt a little bit pleased he had made that noise happen, so he did it again, and this time he felt Gerard against him, and his own toes curled up slightly as he realised what was happening, and how turned on he was. He’d never been like this with the few women he had taken to bed, despite the fact he’d considered them perfectly fine experiences. This was better, and made his belly coil, and his hips jerk up involuntarily.

“I may not have bedded a man before,” Frank said a moment later, looking up at Gerard through his lashes, “but I do believe that being naked is at least a prerequisite.”

Gerard opened his mouth as if he was about to respond, so Frank decided to take things into his own hands. He scooted backwards and sat up, and his hands went to Gerard’s waistcoat. He unbuttoned it and the shirt underneath deftly with the skills he’d picked up over years of doing his own shirts. Gerard seemed a bit dumbfounded for a moment, until Frank pushed it off his shoulders and he remembered how to move again, shrugging it and his shirt off in one motion.

He went to his own shirt then, and Gerard fumbled mostly with his own trousers, then with Frank’s, and somehow, without elbowing each other in the face, Frank managed to slip his shirt off and angle his hips up enough to kick off his trousers too, which revealed the woollen vest and underpants he wore next to his skin, unlike Gerard.

Gerard seemed a little impressed, but mostly frustrated. “Does it never stop?” 

“I must preserve my modesty somehow,” Frank said, grinning wickedly, as Gerard made short work of those layers as well.

“I would like to put in a motion to ban modesty.”

Frank fluttered his lashes, and fanned his face in a mockery of the high-fashion ladies he’d spied at the ball, which was all the more ridiculous now he was completely naked. “Do you take me for a harlot?”

“Hopefully.” Gerard pressed a quick kiss to his mouth again, then said, “Move up. I want to try something.”

“Try what?” He obeyed anyway, because he realised at this point there was very little he wouldn’t do if Gerard asked him to with that earnest look in his eyes. 

“Something,” he answered as helpfully as ever, laughing lowly, and he pushed Frank back so he was lying properly on the bed now, and settled his thighs either side of Frank’s legs. Frank went to pull him for a kiss, but Gerard hesitated for a moment, his hands going to Frank’s hips where there was two dark inklings of swallows. 

“I didn’t know you had these,” Gerard said. He looked delighted.

“I have a few. Legend says they will guide you home, and if you drown at sea they will carry your soul to Heaven.” 

He looked at Frank as if he was the sun itself, and it made his breath catch in his throat. “Did they guide you home?”

“Yes.”

Gerard moved up against him so they were pressed together from sternum to pelvis, his cock trapped against Frank's thigh. He could feel the hot slick of Frank's own as he stuttered his hips up, and Gerard pressed down and rutted their hips together, thrusting against Frank, thankful for once that sweat meant there was no too-rough friction. After a few moments, he slipped a hand down, and wrapped it around Frank, despite the fact there was barely any room for the movement. Frank’s reaction was reward enough, as he hissed and thrust upwards with renewed vigour, and with a few sharp twists of Gerard’s hand, he was crying out and coming against him. 

Then Gerard rolled sideways, and Frank could breathe again, even though he missed the warmth, and they lay side by side, sweaty and flushed for a few moments. Once Frank had regained his breath properly, and he realised that Gerard had not come himself, he rolled so he was on top now. Gerard laughed slightly at this development, until Frank was pushing himself down his body.

“What are you doing?” Gerard asked, his voice hoarse.

“Let me – I want to try.” Frank looked up at him through his lashes, and thought of the time a woman had done this to him when he was younger, in one of the seedy taverns he’d called his own for a while. Then he slipped his mouth around Gerard’s cock, and he was rewarded by the sound of Gerard choking and moaning out.

It only took a few minutes for Gerard to shove urgently at his shoulders, trying to push him away, but Frank resisted, and then, with a cry, Gerard came in his mouth. Frank pulled back at first at the salty taste, but then he remembered what the woman had done, and he swallowed it down, and looked up at Gerard.

“That was fun,” he said lightly. It had a bitter aftertaste which he wasn’t fond of, but he was also proud of himself.

Gerard’s eyes were shut. “You are a reprobate, and I am so glad,” he muttered, and Frank laughed, sliding up the bed so he could settle down next to him once more.

They lapsed into silence for a moment, Gerard reaching out for him until they were tangled together as if this was the most natural thing in the world – and Frank could not disagree, not in that moment. Then, unable to hold back his curiosity, Frank asked the question that had been bugging him since Gerard had first revealed his true attentions.

“Does your brother know?”

Gerard snorted slightly, a half-laugh. “You pick this time to enquire after my dear brother? He does know, always has. I do believe he wouldn’t have taken over the manor if I hadn’t explained why I was forsaking my birth right.” He rolled slightly to the side, and his eyes met Frank’s, dark and intense. “And if you meant, does he know about you? I would say my brother is no fool, nor is his beloved wife. They have more wits about them than you’d think.”

“I am not sure if I find that reassuring.”

Gerard’s smile spread slowly on his pale face, turning up the corners of his lips in a way that gave Frank an urge to kiss him again. “They are good people, and always try to do the right thing. I believe in them with all my heart, and I believe that Waywood Manor could have no better people behind it. And now, I fancy that you must be quite tired, and I feel like I could rest my eyes for a week and still not feel myself.”

“You flatter me,” Frank said lightly, and he felt the warm huff of Gerard’s laughter against his skin as they both shifted around. Frank rolled to the side and Gerard settled himself against his back. He stroked the backs of his fingers, and brushed his lips against the curve of Frank’s neck. It sent warmth through Frank like he'd be swaddled in blankets and draped in safety.

**

The next morning, he crept unhappily out of Gerard’s rooms to do his duties for the children, trying to disguise a new bruise that had mysteriously appeared on his neck with the collar of his shirt. 

He managed to make it through the whole day without slipping out of his careful teacher persona, and he was proud of himself until he stepped into the hallway after lessons and Lady Way was waiting there.

“Frank, we would be most obliged if you would join us for dinner tonight,” she said, a half-smile in place.

His stomach dropped out, but he nodded dumbly, entirely unsure if he had any way out of this. He was pretty certain he could not turn down a direct invitation, and when he mentioned this to Tilly, she closed her eyes, sighed sharply, and said, “We must get you looking presentable once more, your grace.”

“Don’t you dare,” Frank said, without any venom in his voice, as she skittered over to his wardrobe gleefully.

She dressed him up once more in the stiff formal clothes he had rejected so vehemently before, although she did allow him to leave the morning coat off as long as he agreed to keep his waistcoat on. 

She escorted him to dinner that night the same way she had the first night, with a reassuring hand on his arm, and when he entered, he wasn’t even particularly surprised to see Gerard was also sat, looking awkward, at one of the dinner spaces. 

Tilly glanced around the table, which only had two spaces left, and promptly took the one which was not next to Gerard which forced Frank to do so. He glared at her as she grinned back.

“It is good to see you again,” Lady Way said to him cheerfully, when they had all settled into their seats. “I feared that you had become a recluse quite like my brother-in-law. He would rub off on you so terribly.” 

Frank bit his tongue in surprise, but the smile she shot him showed him that she knew exactly what her words could mean.

“Before we eat, I would like to say Grace, for I feel it has been too long.” She turned to her husband, and took his hand, and that of Gilly’s next to her. There was a murmur of agreement as everybody clasped hands with their neighbours. Gerard’s hands were slightly sweaty, but reassuringly solid when Frank curled his fingers with them.

“I believe it is the perfection of God's works that they are all done with the greatest simplicity, and they are done with purpose. He is the God of order and not of confusion. We know to welcome love into our lives with open arms. On behalf of our family and our house, I thank Him. He has taught us to be more prudent, but generous in turn with our love. Amen.”

“Amen,” the dinner table repeated back dutifully.

Frank ducked his head, slightly overwhelmed at the words she’d chosen, and the emotion which he was trying to hide. When his neighbour dropped his hand, Gerard did not. He tucked their clasped hands under the table, and squeezed it tightly.

The Waywood Manor had chosen him, and he had accepted it wholeheartedly, even with its unsettling aura. Perhaps that’s exactly why he felt so at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths, in feelings not in figures on a dial.”_ \- Philip James Bailey is known for his voluminous poem, Festus, published anonymously in 1839, which was later expanded into an anthology of 40,000 lines and published in 1889. This is a short quote from Scene V, A Country Town.
> 
> I am not religious, but in the 19th century it would have obviously been much more wide-spread, and Alicia's words are based on Issac Newton because I enjoy them. It's not a direct quote, however.
> 
> I considered ending this here, but I have one more chapter to post, which is set a few weeks later because I can.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this so far!


	11. Epicinium

The holiday season came upon Waywood Manor with great surprise, despite the fact it occurred the same time every year. One minute, Frank was certain it was simply late fall, and then, he blinked and suddenly outside was white with crisp fresh snow, the trees bare and heaving under blankets of white. The first snowfall had meant that he’d decided to cancel their lessons for the day, and after Gilly tutted and made sure both of the children were wrapped in three or four layers of clothing, she allowed Frank and Gerard to take them outside to play in the new snowfall.

It was sharp and crunchy underfoot, and Frank quickly found his cheeks and nose burning with cold, but he couldn’t stop smiling as he watched his students chase each other around the meadow.

“Have you ever make a snow angel?” Gerard asked quietly, coming up behind him and placing his hands on Frank’s hips. They were still careful in their affections, keeping their touches above waist in company, although it was certainly an open secret in the household now.

(He got fluttery eyes from Tilly sometimes, and that’s when he’d turn on his charm and suggest that Gerard invite Lyn around for a completely _respectable_ , upper-class social event, and perhaps Gerard would accidentally forget to check where Lyn disappeared to for the next couple of hours.)

“What’s a snow angel?” Frank asked, brow furrowed, and he watched as Gerard’s face morphed into pretend scandal.

“This will not do.” He cupped gloved hands around his mouth, and hollered across at the children, “Elsie, Arthur, come here! We need to teach this young man what a snow angel is!”

Elsie came pelting over at a hundred miles an hour, and barrelled straight into Frank and sent him tumbling into the snow with a shriek. He flailed as he went down, and hit the ground hard, trying not hit his own head, and not to let Elsie get hurt. He moaned in pain at the whole experience, which had been quite unexpected, and not something he was in a hurry to repeat.

She sat up on his chest, and beamed down at him. “Snow angel!”

“Not quite so violently, Elsie,” Gerard chided, although he was muffling unseemly giggles. “Although correct. You do need to lay in the snow. Come on, let’s find an undisturbed patch.”

It was quite easy to do, considering just how much land the actual manor was surrounded by, and when Gerard was satisfied with the new area, he lined them all up, tallest to smallest, and then they fell backwards, laughing into the snow.

“I’m going to make a snow unicorn!” Elsie declared happily, as she stuck one of her arms above her head.

“Then I shall make a snow solider,” Arthur replied gravely, “and he will beat your snow unicorn up!”

Elsie’s voice grew loud and heated. “That’s not true! My unicorn is immortal! Fraaaaannnk, tell him he’s wrong!”

Frank turned his pleading eyes on Gerard. “You’re their uncle, do something.”

“Both snow unicorns and snow soldiers are immortal, because they are made of magic snow,” Gerard declared in an authoritative voice. “However –” he paused for dramatic effect, and both children turned their wide eyes on him – “snow Gerard is the most deadly of all, and he’s gonna get you both!” He jumped up and they leapt up in turn, shrieking as they ran away from their uncle, who was making monster noises under his breath and clawing for them.

“Not quite what I meant, Gerard,” Frank yelled after him, unable to contain his own amusement at the sight of his beloved chasing two hyperactive kids in circles, pretending to be some form of supernatural monster.

 

**

Later, once both children were worn out to the point they were almost quiet, they stomped off as much of the snow as possible, and Frank brushed down both of the children’s coats before they stepped into the hallway. Tilly and her best servants had been at work for most of the last week, transforming the manor entirely. Even the menacing stag head on the wall which had unsettled him so much previously was now draped in beautiful, multicoloured ribbons, and he looked a lot less scary like that. The servants had painstakingly made wreaths and long garlands of berried evergreens, mistletoe, holly and ivy (although Gerard had helped source them, simply because he got to inflict a new group with his barrage of plant facts). These had been strung from the ceiling and across the grandiose doorways, which dulled the cold, cavernous feel the hall sometimes took on. Candles, wrapped in brightly coloured ribbons, flickered in the golden holders that had multiplied overnight.

They’d even had a few fir trees brought in, in the fashion that Prince Albert had brought to the country. One stood beside the grand staircase, draped in ribbons and glass baubles which Frank was certain must have been handmade, for they were beautifully intricate.

It all made him smile so wide that his cheeks hurt, for he’d never seen anything quite like it, and even being in the manor house when people were working to brighten it up quite so beautifully had been a pleasant experience.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Lady Way say, “There are my monsters! You look positively pink with cold, the lot of you. And you are dripping all over my floors.” She was stood in the doorway to one of the drawing rooms which led onto the grand entrance hall, smiling, with little berries woven into her dark hair around the crown of her face. “Come, I had the kitchen bring you all up some hot cocoa!”

Both Elsie and Arthur obediently trotted into the drawing room, but Frank held back, and Lady Way gave him one of her stern looks. “You too, sir. I pay your wages, so you must drink hot cocoa and make sure you don’t get sick on my watch. You hear me?” 

Then she ruined it by laughing, and Gerard and Frank followed her into the drawing room. The fire was blazing, and the two children were curled up one of the many heavily stuffed and buttoned chesterfields, contentedly sipping from their own cups. Lady Way pushed one of the many cups into both of their hands, then motioned for them to take a seat on a spare settee. 

“Lady Way, I must apologise for the children’s wet clothes –” Frank began, meaning to pass the blame, as he always did, on her wayward brother anyway.

“Frank, my dear, we have spoken on this. It is Alicia to you, for you are my family, and I wish you would stop with the formalities. Imagine if Gerard called me Lady Way!”

“I fear it would get your head,” Gerard murmured, grinning. He dropped his voice to a whisper, and leant over to Frank. “Although I would not object to you using my lord when –”

“Gerard,” Alicia said sharply, and Gerard sat back, pretending for all the world as if he’d been doing or saying nothing untoward. She smiled and shook her head, and then focused her attention back on Frank, who’d mostly been staring into his drink and avoiding eye contact as he preferred to do. “I have a request of you, Frank.”

He glanced up, startled. “Of course, La— Alicia.”

“I have spoken to Tilly, and she says you write often to your mother back in London. I fear you must quite miss her, for it is a fair distance, and we have not be liberal with your holiday days.”

“It’s quite alright,” he hastened to reassure her. 

“I am sure, but nevertheless, I wish to extend an invitation to her to stay with us as an honoured guest over the holidays.” Alicia paused, then smiled gently. “If your mother wants, we have many positions open here permanently and we would welcome her with open arms.”

Frank stared blankly for a moment, unable quite to process how much of a gift Alicia was extending to him. He glanced uneasily at Gerard, who was already nodding.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” he said, clasping Frank’s hand gently. “Don’t you?”

“She can be my nana!” Elsie said jubilantly, having already downed her hot drink and wanting to focus on the adult’s conversation once more.

“I would be honoured,” Frank murmured.

He wrote to his mother the same day, who, for once, replied quickly with her eager acceptance, and Alicia arranged a carriage to bring her up in a few days on an overnight journey, allowing her time to pack and tie up any loose ends in London and avoid the tedium of a long day’s journey.

Frank had been sending her most of his monthly wages, because he’d had no need for them considering both his room and his food was provided, but he was still excited to see her again, and make sure she was in good health and had been looking after herself.

The day arrived bright, cold but with clear skies, and Frank was up and waiting at the door for his mother’s carriage an hour before it was even due to arrive. Tilly came over to see him when she passed through, and she petted his cheek and told him to stop pining like such a mother’s boy then disappeared. She reappeared a few minutes later with a hot fresh scone and mulled wine, and pressed them into his hands with a furtive wink.

When his mother’s carriage pulled into the long drive-yard, he headed outside to meet her on the steps, and when it stopped out front, he was already there opening the door and helping her down the carriage steps to the ground before one of the footmen had actually noticed a visitor had arrived. 

The footman instead handled the bags, looking puzzled at Frank’s eagerness.

“Ma!” Frank cried happily, pulling her into his arms and embracing her tightly, then hustling her quickly into the warmth of the hall. He stepped back and looked her up and down, and grinned. “You look radiant, ma.”

“I should think so, I always do,” Linda said, but then she broke into a wiry grin, and she embraced her son back just as tightly. “You look healthy and happy, my dear. And not as scrawny! I must commend the cooks here for that.”

“They’ve had me under a campaign to fatten me up properly,” he explained. “I suppose it has worked.” 

Linda nodded approvingly, and then her gaze was drawn up the staircase behind him. “And who is this handsome young man who is staring quite improperly at us?”

Frank turned around and of course it was Gerard, who was hovering anxiously at the top of the stairs, if unsure if he was welcome to join into the happy reunion between mother and son. Frank motioned him down, and turned back to his mother with a relaxed smile, “This is my master’s brother, Gerard.”

His mother stiffened slightly. “An Earl’s brother?” she questioned as Gerard approached, still out of earshot. As soon as he stopped in front of her, and offered his hand to shake, she recoiled slightly and dipped into a curtsy.

Gerard looked horrified. “No, please, don’t!” He waved his hands around rather ineffectually until she rose back to her own height, looking puzzled at his reaction. 

“Have I offended you, Lord Way?”

“No! No, Mrs. Iero, I only came over to check you had arrived safely.” Gerard still looked mildly horrified, but it was disappearing slowly as Linda relaxed her formal etiquette slightly. “I am one of your son’s companions.”

Frank laughed, delicately trying to cover it with a cough, although it was not very effective. Gerard elbowed his side surreptitiously, using the fact he was still stood slightly behind Frank to cover the move.

“Companion? To my son?” His mother looked between the two of them a few times, and then said, “Well, I never. Frankie always did have one of those charms about him.”

“Yeah,” Gerard agreed, looking oddly wistful. “He does.”

**

Gerard took them into the near drawing room, where Michael and Alicia were waiting with the two children. They all eagerly exchanged pleasant hugs with Linda. It was only after this had happened that introduced themselves with their actual titles.

His mother went very pale, but kept her composure, even as she felt every etiquette rule breaking into thousands of splinters in front of her.

“Take a seat,” Alicia warmly. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you,” Linda replied as she sat in the motioned chair, slightly wide-eyed at the idea of the wife of an earl offering to fetch things for her.

“May I call you Linda? I’ve heard Frank speak so well of you, and I would much prefer it over formalities.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Linda agreed, seemingly relaxing slightly at the warmth of her son’s employers despite their high social standing. Frank grinned at her, then took a seat on a settee nearby, which led to Gerard throwing himself rather carelessly next to him until Frank knocked him slightly away, looking pointedly at his mother.

“I brought a few gifts for the young ones to thank you for your hospitality,” Linda offered, apparently not noticing this odd behaviour, or at least not sparing it a glance. Frank was suddenly thankful she was so focused on the Lord and Lady of the house. “They’re not much, but I made them myself, and I believe they will both appreciate them from Frank’s letters.” She reached into the only bag she was still carrying, and pulled out what at first glance appeared to be two misshapen stuffed animals.

Frank realised, with a sudden grin, that one was in fact a bear with a unicorn horn, and the other was a bear clasping a sword in one hand and bow across his back.

Elsie and Arthur both lept up eagerly, but they waited for Alicia to incline her head before they took the two presents from Linda. They were both beaming.

“I am most impressed you paid quite so much attention. They are absolutely wonderful, and I must thank you. I am sure they will be fighting them to death in less than fifteen minutes.” Alicia herself was smiling her famous smile, the one which Frank was sure could make a whole room light up in the dark. “I’m afraid we did not make arrangements for a gift for you except for Christmas Day, please accept our sincere apologies.”

“Seeing my son, and especially as happy as he is right now, is gift enough.” Linda was rarely that openly emotional, and it made Frank’s heart tug slightly as he looked at her face.

**

On Christmas Day, Frank did not even try to make the children sit down and handle their lessons, for he knew it was a futile effort. They were buzzing with excitement, and he was sure, if they tried to sit still they might actually end up vibrating across the floor. Instead, he came with Gerard to their rooms, and told them they would be expected in the east drawing room in five minutes because their uncle and their father had a special present for them.

They were dressed in their Sunday clothes, and on their best behaviour as Frank led them to the drawing room, where the household had gathered for present exchanges and Christmas merriment.

As soon as they arrived, Alicia disappeared, and returned with her husband who was carrying two oversized boxes, both with carefully punctured holes in their lids. She made sure the children were sitting patiently on the floor, and then gently placed them on the ground.

By this point, Arthur had obviously already figured it out, because his eyes had widened fully and he was smiling, which was quite an expression for the nearly always solemn child. Elsie, however, appeared rather clueless.

With Michael’s permission, the two children threw off the lids simultaneously, and out popped two curious little black heads. Pink noses flared at the new scents, and dark brown eyes blinked sleepily. Elsie made her happy squeal, and reached out an eager hand for the puppy to sniff. Even as excited as she was, she’d been around the hunting dogs, and knew not to grab for a strange dog. Frank was strangely proud.

Both puppies were almost identical, save for the one that Elsie had now befriended and which was crawling into her lap to sleep, who had a messy splodge of white above its brow as if somebody had spilled paint there. 

“It’s where her unicorn horn was!” breathed Elsie excitedly.

Arthur’s puppy sniffed at his legs, then his fingers, and then placed both paws on his chest and licked a long, wet stripe from his chin to his nose.

Frank laughed, and watched as the whole room grinned at the genuine infectious cheer of the two children.

Gerard slipped his arm around Frank’s waist, and squeezed it gently, and Frank, lost in the moment, leaned in for a moment before remembering where they were and who was there to witness it. He pulled sharply away, but he’d already caught eyes with his mother, who watching them curiously. He’d expected disapproval on her face, but instead, she turned her eyes to the two children, who was rolling around with their new puppy companions, and beamed.

**

Gerard’s present to him was a simple silver pendant, engraved with _‘Omnia vincit Amor; et nos cedamus Amori’_ , attached to a string of polished prayer beads.

**

As his mother left, she took Frank aside and said, “I don’t want you to tell me what is going on, for I fear I am happiest in ignorance. But I trust your judgement, and know I will always look out for you, forever and always.” She paused, and pressed a kiss to his cheek, and left her hand cupping his jaw. “I read a book by some Bell fellow and there were words in there which stuck out quite vividly to me; I believe they were that life is too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs.” 

Then she kissed his cheek once more and turned away, and boarded the carriage they’d called for her. She’d declined the invitation to take up residence at the manor, for – Frank had managed to extract from her – there was an older gentleman in London who had taken a fancy to her, and she was eager to return to his attentions. But she promised she would be back, soon and often.

Frank waved her off with a warm glow, then turned and retreated into the ghoulish manor, trying to decide how he was going to teach the children about philosophy without being hated for all of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a fun ride :D
> 
> _‘Omnia vincit Amor; et nos cedamus Amori.’_ \- Perhaps better known as 'Love conquers all, and we must yield to love', this was from Virgil's Eclogue X (37 BC) but the prayer beads are a reference to the Prioress from The Canterbury Tales, who owns a string of prayer beads attached to a pendant with these words on it.
> 
> _“I read a book by some Bell fellow and there were words in there which stuck out quite vividly to me; I believe they were that life is too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs.”_ \- A quote from Jane Eyre (1847) by Charlotte Bronte, who indeed published it under the pen name of Currer Bell - this hid her sex, but allowed her to keep the initials of 'C.B.'


End file.
